


Werk It, Girl

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Drag Queen Keith (Voltron), Drag Queens, Face-Fucking, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Size Kink, Top Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 02:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19966765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Keith is a contestant onCoran's Drag Race, competing to be the next Drag Superstar. Towards the end of the competition, the girls are given their weekly challenge: adopt a drag daughter into your drag house.And in walks Shiro.Working together in a competition is one thing, but Keith could never be prepared for everything that comes next.





	Werk It, Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atlasshiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlasshiro/gifts).



> Fic request from [Vee](https://twitter.com/hokageshiro) for a gift to [Aline](https://twitter.com/atIasshiro). The request was for drag queen Keith meeting Shiro during a reality competition and things escalating from there (keeping some of the request a surprise!). 
> 
> The first half of this fic is based off an episode of Rupaul's Drag Race (season 5, episode 10: "Super Troopers") and some of the dialogue from the show's been incorporated into the fic, as well as obviously directly pulling the challenge from that episode. 
> 
> I made up the drag queen names for this fic and if I somehow managed to name an actual drag queen out there, please know it's accidental. 
> 
> This was so much fun to write! I'm not super familiar with drag queen culture, so please forgive any terminology mistakes I might have made. 
> 
> Finally, a note on pronouns: Keith's narration uses he/him pronouns for himself even when he's in drag, but he primarily refers to other queens with she/her pronouns when they're performing/in drag. Dialogue used throughout uses she/her pronouns for queens when they're in drag. (I just wanted to give that warning just in case that might cause discomfort if presented without warning!)
> 
> Thank you to Sarah, as always, for reading this over for me.

When the queens return to the work room after the last elimination, there’s a message written in bright red lipstick on the mirror: _Love you all! Reach for the stars!_

It’s a fitting last message from Monika Tension, who despite best efforts to look like a sparkling, glittering diamond on the runway, ended up fumbling through a lip-sync-for-your-life moment after ripping her dress. Ultimately, Coran gave her the boot. 

So goes a day on _Coran’s Drag Race,_ Keith thinks as he erases the lipstick message with a few swipes of a spare cloth, as is the tradition for the show. The mirror streaks his reflection until the last burning hue of red disappears from the surface. 

Behind Keith, the remaining queens discuss Monika’s departure. It’s partially for the cameras, but Keith thinks the remorse to see her go is genuine, as are the flippant reminders of a fierce competition: _She was a brat, anyway,_ Quinn Tessence sneers with a flick of her long silver hair. 

There’s only five of them left and it’s been weeks of fierce competition. Things will only get harder as they go along, and possibly more outrageous given the general tenor of the show.

Keith can’t wait. 

When Keith told his parents that he’d not only applied to be on _Coran’s Drag Race,_ but had been accepted as a contestant, his parents had looked surprised only for a moment before congratulating him. He doesn’t blame them for that reaction— they’ve always supported Keith’s pursuits but know he has little tolerance for gimmicks. Keith’s been a drag queen for years now, creative and confident on the stage, but he’s also never been the type to actually go on a reality show. But it’d seemed like a great opportunity to get exposure, experience, and money— and Keith doesn’t regret the decision to join, not when it’s done wonders for his inspiration. 

Plus, Keith knows he can win. And it’s never bad to be confident. 

This week’s challenge is no different: Keith ducks his head and focuses. It’s a reality television cliché, but he _is_ here to win and he’s _not_ here to make friends. 

He wins the mini-challenge with confidence, working through some fitness drills with heels on and keeping his wig out of his face. It’s almost too easy, although he wouldn’t dare say that in front of the other queens, especially when Miss Honey struggles. He doesn’t think he’s arrogant for knowing he’ll win. It’s just confidence, but he knows he has a reputation with the other girls. Thirsty River’s glaring at him from the end of the line, hands on their hips. If looks could kill, Thirsty would have murdered Keith ages ago. 

“Thunderstorm Darkness, con _drag_ ulations on winning the mini-challenge!” Coran declares, chipper as always, dressed up nicely in a pressed suit and a wide smile. He twirls his mustache— a staple of his look, and an eternal mystery how he can maintain it even when dressed in drag. (Keith’s running theory is that it’s a fake mustache, but then he can’t really explain how Coran can tug on it so pointedly when waxing poetic about his days working on his pop-pop’s farm.) 

“Thank you,” Keith says. 

He can practically feel Thirsty River bristling at his lack of demurring. Miss Honey’s looking a little displeased, too, he notes as he glances over at her. Enchanté Frisée smiles at him, though, and that’s at least somewhat encouraging. Keith likes Frisée, anyway— she’s one of the few queens Keith could see himself being friends with after this competition. Keith’s always genuinely enjoyed her presentations, especially when she gets to show off her cooking prowess in costume form. Last week, she’d created a look that actually looked like a cupcake. 

Part of Keith can’t wait until he gets to see the final product of this season; he imagines the confessionals are going to be particularly scathing. He’ll have to make a drinking game out of it with his parents for their weekly tradition of watching reality television together (not just _Coran’s Drag Race_ but other competition shows, too). _Dad, take a shot every time someone calls me a bitch,_ or _Okay, chug your beer every time someone calls me overconfident!_ If they really do chug after that line, Keith’s pretty sure they’ll get wasted after only five minutes. 

“All of you have soldiered on challenge after challenge,” Coran addresses the line of queens. “And now it’s time to give back to those who’ve also soldiered on to serve our country.” It’s about as awkward a set-up as the show tends to give (what about drag is particularly subtle, Keith figures) and with a wide arc of his hand and a flick of his wrist, Coran gestures towards the door. He crooks his finger in a beckoning gesture and calls, “Come on out, lads!” 

With Coran’s cue, the door opens. Keith watches as five men march into the room, wearing military fatigues and laced up combat boots. Keith knows he should be keeping his expression neutral, just assessing, but then the last man enters through the door and Keith’s eyes catch and hold on him, unable to look away. 

He would never say the world drops away— far too corny— but as soon as their eyes meet, Keith can’t see anything else. It’s dramatic and cliché, but it’s the only way Keith can describe it— his vision zeroes in on the man and Coran’s cheerful voice and the queens’ murmurs of approval all disappear around him. 

The man’s handsome. That kind of handsome that feels impractical or fabricated. He’s the kind of handsome where if Keith were to see him in a magazine, he’d scoff at the ridiculous photoshopping. No man has the right to look so good in camo pants and a tight long-sleeved shirt, biceps bulging and a deep vee dipping beneath his clavicle. The man’s tall, wide-shouldered, but with a friendly smile that he tries to quash down as he stands at ease in the line, hands tucked behind his back. His pretty silver hair falls across his forehead, an undercut only emphasizing his chiseled jaw. 

Keith must look ridiculous, just blatantly staring. But he also can’t summon the urge to look away.

“These gentlemen,” Coran continues, sweeping his hand towards the five men standing beside him, “have all served this country in some way, whether as soldiers, pilots, coast guards. They’ve worked hard these last few years, all for us, and—” Coran adds with a wink, “they all just so happen to be gay. So mind your manners, ladies.” 

There’re a few delighted titters down the line. But Keith hasn’t been able to quite tear his eyes away from the last man. It seems that attraction is mutual, though— the guy’s eyes have caught on him, too, and haven’t looked away.

He can’t blame the guy for staring. Keith knows he looks good, not fully made up for a performance but looking put-together, and he’s well aware that the red high-waisted shorts are a _crowd-pleaser_ , to put it lightly. Keith figures that if he’d thought to do his hair better today, he’d be a total knockout. The producers don’t usually give them time to get fully dressed up for these mini-challenges, and Keith hates them a little bit for that now. 

But, feeling bold, as he often does when dressed up as Thunderstorm, Keith winks at the man. 

The guy ducks his head a little, his smile turning shy and his cheeks turning pink. It’s absurdly adorable and Keith kind of hates that he’s three seconds away from obviously climbing this guy like a tree. The guy stares at his feet only for a moment before his eyes flick up, peering at Keith through his bangs. 

“With that in mind,” Coran continues, “We’ll be giving back to these men who’ve done so much for us! You’ll be enlisting them into your drag house— you’ll make them over, make them walk, and dance their cares away on the runway. The theme this week is for dreams to come true!” 

Keith finally wrenches his eyes away from the guy to sweep over the other four men, assessing. He can’t let his attraction outweigh his strategy. The men are varying sizes and shapes, some tall, others short, some fit and others a little rounder. The guy on the end has a shadow of hair peeking out past his vee-neck, so that’ll be an extra step to take care of, but not as critically as the man in the middle’s full beard. 

“Thunderstorm Darkness,” Coran says, cheerfully, startling Keith from his evaluation. “As the winner of today’s mini-challenge, you get to decide the queen-soldier pair-ups.” 

“Oh,” Keith says, standing up a bit straighter. His eyes flicker towards the guy on the end. 

“Who do you choose for yourself?” Coran prompts. 

Keith knows he should be more strategic— the guy second from the front is willowy and clean-shaven, likely the easiest choice. But his eyes shift back towards the man at the end. He smiles at Keith, that same shy curl, and Keith knows he’s made his choice. 

“Him,” Keith declares, pointing. Keith doesn’t think he’s mistaken that the guy’s smile grows and his cheeks turn pinker. 

He surveys the other men and assigns them as he sees fit. Enchanté’s eyes keep flickering towards the man at the front, so Keith gives him to her. He gives the full-bearded man to Thirsty just because he knows it’ll piss them off and assigns the remaining two to Miss Honey and Quinn Tessence. The men move obediently towards their queens at Coran’s instruction and Keith watches his choice approach him, grinning a wide, boyish smile. 

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough, his voice deep and masculine. Keith forces himself to breathe as he side-steps enough to make room for his adoptee to stand beside him. Keith can’t speak, only nodding a bit at him in greeting. 

“Remember, ladies,” Coran announces, clapping his hands together, “we’re looking for a strong family resemblance, a true expression of your drag. Treat your daughters well and help them achieve their dreams!” 

And with that, he claps his hands again, this time in dismissal, and the queens set to work, dragging their newly adopted daughters to their workstations. There’s a bustle of noise and a flurry of movement as the ten of them move and the camera crew swivels to accommodate, lenses pointed to capture the action. 

Keith pulls a stool out at his workstation to let his guy sit down. He leans his hip against his workstation, looking him over. 

“You’re beautiful,” is the first thing his newly adopted daughter says as he sits, grinning at Keith.

Keith absolutely does not blush and even if he did, he has a full-face of makeup on. No blush is ever seeing the light of day when he has his face on. 

“Thank you,” Keith says, batting his eyelashes. 

He really can’t afford to get distracted by a handsome man complimenting him, though, and so it’s easy to fall back into his persona— Thunderstorm Darkness is hot, and she knows it. She doesn’t take shit and she _doesn’t_ get embarrassed by compliments. It’s all just part of the show— and Keith’s been performing for years. 

He can fall back on her whenever he needs to. 

Whatever doubts regular, boring _Keith_ might have, whatever might make Keith dull and uninteresting— Thunderstorm Darkness has never felt it. Keith might get embarrassed by compliments in everyday life, but not when he’s performing. It’s easy to become her. When he’s wearing the dress and makeup, when he’s acting, it’s easy to forget all else. 

“I’m Takashi,” Keith’s adoptee says. “But I go by Shiro.” 

“I’m Thunderstorm Darkness,” he says, crossing his arms and jutting his hip out, leaning against the work station in a showy curve, poised, smiling Thunderstorm Darkness’ trademark mysterious smile. “But you knew that already.” 

If possible, Shiro blushes more and it’s painfully endearing. “So… do you go by Thunder? Or Storm? Or Dark?” he asks, and Keith can’t tell if he’s teasing or genuinely asking. “… Probably not Ness, right? That doesn’t sound really drag-y. But I admit I don’t know much about it.” 

Keith can’t recall ever being called _Ness_ , so he shrugs, making the movement graceful. He lets his voice flick high and sweet when he says, “You can call me whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

Shiro’s entire face turns bright red. He fidgets, trying to smother his smile, and he ducks his head. Keith doesn’t quite preen, but he takes the confidence boost it gives him. He wonders what it is Shiro sees, looking at him. 

“What’s your… name-name?” Shiro asks, glancing up again, and then coughs. “Or is that something I’m not supposed to ask?” 

He’s not supposed to, no, and from anyone else such a question would get a swift evasion from Keith. But there’s something so bright and earnest about the way Shiro leans forward, looking at Keith. Like he truly wants to know the answer for Keith’s sake rather than just being nosy. Keith wonders what it’s like to be so naturally charming. 

Keith’s smile grows and he says, quietly so the other queens won’t hear and scoff at him in their confessionals: “It’s Keith.” 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, testing the name out, and Keith absolutely does not shiver. And he absolutely does not want to hear Shiro say his name like that again. Shiro pauses and then asks, “Do I call you that?” 

“Not on camera, but maybe another time… if you’re good,” Keith says with another wink just to see if he can get Shiro to sputter. 

Shiro does and it’s a cute sound, a little choke and a gulp as he corrects himself. It’s easy for Keith to flirt when he’s Thunderstorm— she’s relentless and knows what she wants. And Shiro’s cute. She and Keith have exquisite taste. 

“So, you’re a soldier,” Keith says, conversationally, grabbing his sketchbook and flipping to a fresh page towards the middle. He needs to start brainstorming what their presentation is going to be, and that means getting a sense of who this Shiro guy even is. 

“Coast guard, actually,” Shiro corrects. “I mostly do search-and-rescue. Or, did, I guess.” 

“You’re not enlisted anymore?” Keith asks, sketching two forms on the page— one slimmer and one taller. 

Shiro hesitates and then says, “Honorary discharge. I— sorry, I would have showed this at the start, but the producers wanted it to be a big reveal.” 

Keith’s keenly aware of the cameras on him as Shiro slowly peels off the gloves he’s wearing and rolls up his sleeves. Instead of flesh on his right arm, there’s a gleaming prosthetic, glinting gunmetal and high-tech. Keith blinks in surprise. 

“Huh,” Keith says. “Alright.” 

“That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting,” Shiro admits, something easing in his eyes. It’s likely not the reaction the producers wanted, either. He can already tell from experience on this show that they’ll be fishing for _something_ from him when they do the debrief confessionals after the challenge. 

It’ll be leading questions, too. _Tell us about your struggles with such a setback._ Or, _You must have been so disappointed and frustrated to see that. Tell us about it._ Keith already hates the idea of it. That’s part of the show he doesn’t like— the obvious fishing for drama, and the exploitation of someone’s feelings. 

Keith’s touching Shiro’s arms before he even thinks about it. He drags his fingertips up through the soft silver hair on his left arm and traces the sleek lines of the metal on his right. He lets himself lean forward, pushing his weight easily onto Shiro, arching in closer and letting his eyes dip and trace up his body. 

“If you expected me to complain about having you, you’re going to be disappointed,” Keith murmurs, flirtatiously. 

“Thunderstorm Darkness is more concerned about sleeping with her soldier than winning,” Keith hears Thirsty mutter down the row and their soldier laughing in agreement. Keith thoroughly ignores them, and the cameras around them, and focuses instead on Shiro. 

“Wow,” Shiro whispers and Keith isn’t quite sure what he’s reacting to. 

“So,” Keith says, sliding his fingers along the line of muscle in Shiro’s bicep, that line between flesh and metal, “How do _you_ feel about this? Do you want to hide it or highlight it? I can work with whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

Shiro blinks a few times, as if taken aback by the very concept that Keith’s factoring in his comfort (and a small, hidden part of Keith twinges with rage on Shiro’s behalf) and then he laughs. 

“I don’t mind it,” Shiro says, curling and uncurling his fingers. “It’s part of me… and I know it looks cool. I’m game for whatever you want to do… I, um, I hope I’ll be a good partner for you, Storm.” 

“Settled on Storm, huh?” Keith asks. 

“It suits you. Your eyes are like a storm,” Shiro says and sounds just a little bit moony. “They’re pretty.” 

Keith feels himself break character, his face splitting into an absurd grin before he ducks his head. Helplessly, he murmurs, “That’s so cheesy.” 

“Well, if you insist on Ness, that’s fine, too,” Shiro demurs and then starts laughing again. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world. 

Keith can’t help but join in. They must look ridiculous, in the thick of a fierce competition, just the two of them laughing stupidly together. Somehow, Shiro’s laughter is infectious and Keith can’t help his delighted giggles in response. He doesn’t care if the other queens are looking— he just wants to get lost in Shiro’s eyes, memorize just what they look like squinted up in happiness. 

He’s never felt so gravitated towards someone before. There’s no reason he should strive so much for Shiro’s happiness. 

“Anyway,” Keith says, once his laughter bubbles away. He still sounds breathless to his own ears, but he hopes it just comes across as flirty. “We have to give you a body.” 

“You can’t tell in these pants, but I have a nice butt,” Shiro says, overly earnest, his eyes big. 

He stands up from his stool to demonstrate, turning around so Keith can look at his ass. It is, indeed, a very nice butt. 

“Mmm,” Keith hums, letting his voice drip with honey, “That’s a very lovely ass, Shiro, but I’m still going to make it bigger.” 

Feeling bold, because that’s just who Thunderstorm Darkness is, he leans forward and slaps Shiro’s ass. It’s just the lightest touch but Shiro barks out a surprised laugh, face pink-cheeked and grinning when he turns around and drops back down onto his stool. 

It’s easy to flirt like this, and it helps that Shiro gives as good as he gets. He grins when Keith teases, blushes when Keith winks, and flirts right back with him. It’s easy, low-pressure and fun. Keith never forgets that he’s here to win, but he feels confident about their chances. 

-

“So, I’m thinking about going outer space for our theme,” Keith says and watches Shiro’s eyes light up. 

“I love space!” he gushes. “I wanted to be an astronaut as a kid and— hey, if we do some sort of space thing, my arm could be like… an android arm and—” 

He’s getting into it. Keith finds himself grinning back, sketching quickly to put image to Shiro’s words. Keith’s made his mark on this competition for his innovative and creative interpretations of prompts and challenges, and that’s his favorite part about drag— and Shiro’s rambling, delighted suggestions wash over Keith and leave him, frankly, just a little breathless. 

“Perfect, Shiro, yeah,” Keith says when Shiro finally pauses for breath halfway through envisioning an astronaut-alien meet-cute. 

“Really?” Shiro asks, eyes bright and delighted. 

Keith turns his sketchpad around so Shiro can see— Shiro in a silver, gleaming dress, all wide hips and dolled-up hair, and Keith in a sleek purple-blue alien getup. Shiro’s mouth opens in a little, surprised circle and he reaches out wordlessly to take the sketchpad, staring at it. 

“You really _just_ drew this?” he asks, wondering. 

Keith shrugs; he’s always been something of an artist, and he’s old-hat at this point when it comes to designing clothes. _Creating_ the clothes is another thing; his sewing’s gotten much better, but a timed competition always leaves much to be desired from his seam work. 

“That’s amazing, Storm,” Shiro breathes and Keith is once again glad for the full-makeup that hides his blush. He takes the sketchpad back with a dimpling smile. 

“We better get started, then.” 

“I’m ready for anything,” Shiro announces, grinning. “I was so excited that I’d get to be here. I’ve always… I mean,” he trails off, blushing, looking down at his hands. “I’ve always been interested in all this, but I’ve never actually done it, you know?” 

Keith glances at him, studying his face, the way he clenches and unclenches his hands. Wordlessly, he reaches his hand out and covers Shiro’s, just holding it there. He’s mesmerized by the way Shiro slowly relaxes beneath the touch. 

“It’s my honor to be your first time, Shiro,” Keith says when Shiro looks up at him, blowing a kiss just to make Shiro sputter. 

Keith ducks down, digging through the bin of shoes the producers left in Shiro’s size and pulls out a silver pair with modest heels, wriggling them enticingly towards Shiro. 

Shiro brightens up, already ducking down to unlace his boots. He’s so eager, so quick to toe off his boots and reach for the heels that a small part of Keith’s heart throbs in his chest. It’s nice, refreshing even, to see such unbridled joy— he loves drag, but this competition can be so tiring.

The cutthroat nature of it, the drama of being shoved together with the same people every day, can obscure so much of the honest happiness that drag makes Keith feel. Shiro reminds him of what it first felt like to walk out on stage. 

He watches Shiro roll his pants up past his ankles. Keith holds out his hand for Shiro to hold onto as he tentatively slips one foot into the first heel and then the other. Christ, even his feet are handsome— Keith is an absolute mess. 

Shiro wobbles only once before his ankles seem to get the memo and he squeezes Keith’s hand before letting go. 

“Standing’s one thing,” Keith teases, his hand still held out just in case he needs to grab Shiro quickly, “Now you have to walk, babe.” 

“Watch me,” Shiro says, and this time he’s the one to wink— it’s casually devastating and Keith isn’t sure if he’s ever going to recover. 

Then Shiro starts walking. Keith stares at him as he walks away, downright gliding across the floor. 

“Oooh my god, she’s done this before,” Miss Honey calls out as Shiro walks by her. Shiro gives a sweet little wave, grinning, and even gives a little foot pop. Miss Honey hoots at him. Shiro spins, not even missing a beat as he hits the end of the room and starts walking back towards Keith. 

“Sway your hips more,” Keith calls and Shiro obeys him, naturally incorporating the feedback, his feet crossing sensually as he moves. He’s grinning at Keith, which _shouldn’t_ be sexy with how goofy he looks, but it’s absolutely doing things to Keith. 

Shiro stops with a little hip pop once he reaches Keith again, hand on his hip and grin wide and sweet. 

“How was that?” he asks, and Keith loves how confident he looks, how bright his eyes are. 

“Fuck me,” Keith exhales and hates how much it sounds like a command rather than a reaction. He clears his throat, trying to recover. “Well. You’ve got the strut down, at least.” 

Shiro laughs and keeps practicing his walk as Keith starts crafting his hips for him and ripping the seams off an older project to reuse for their walk. He’s feeling good about their chances based on Shiro’s walk alone, and his general good attitude. He smiles to himself as he starts carving into the foam, sculpting it into hips for Shiro. 

It’s easy enough to fall into the groove of it; Keith’s used to performance and used to time limits, and once he has some tentative curves cut out for Shiro, it’s easy enough to focus on reworking older designs into space-themed dresses. The silver dress will work well with Shiro’s hair, he thinks. 

-

“Okay,” he announces, well into their allotted time. He whips the dress free of stray debris and holds it up for Shiro to inspect. “What do you think?” 

“Wow,” Shiro whispers, and really, Shiro’s nothing if not an ego boost. He seems genuinely impressed by everything that Keith’s done so far. Keith watches Shiro drag his fingertips down the sequined, sparkling silver material. 

“Get naked,” Keith says, winking, “Let’s see this on you.” 

Shiro tentatively steps out of his heels, going from towering over Keith to just kind of looming. Keith ushers him behind what passes for a modesty screen. 

Keith’s ashamed of the fact that he nearly dead drops just from Shiro stripping off his shirt. He’s not an idiot. The shirt was tight, and he knew Shiro had muscles, but it’s another thing entirely to see it all on display like that. There are a few smatterings of scars that criss-cross over his chest and the dusting of hair Keith saw earlier. But fuck, his abs. 

Keith knows he’s staring and he really can’t summon any sort of urge to tear his eyes away. Shiro chuckles and Keith watches, mesmerized, as that blush floods down his face, his neck, and spots over his chest. 

Fuck, he’s handsome. 

“So, uh… do you have a boyfriend?” Shiro asks, jarring Keith from his thoughts. He looks up, eyes widening as Shiro casually undoes his belt and lets his pants drop. If the chest was distracting, his legs are tragic— thick, muscular, and _distracting._

“What?” Keith asks, absently, staring at his thighs. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Shiro asks, more earnestly this time, but looking a bit awkward at Keith’s lack of answer. 

“No…” Keith murmurs, still dragging his eyes over Shiro’s exposed skin. He snaps out of it a moment later when the words finally connect to his horny brain. He jerks his face up to stare at Shiro, eyes wide. “No, I’m— Uh… hard to date during a reality competition. You know.” 

Shiro grins, red-faced and pleased. “Yeah. I bet.” 

“… What about you?” Keith asks, and hopes he sounds casual. It’s just reciprocity in a conversation. He’s being polite. 

Shiro waggles his eyebrows at him as he takes the dress from Keith’s limp grasp and slips into it, shimming it up over his body. “Nope,” he says, popping his lips on the ‘p’. “No boyfriend.” 

Keith thinks he should probably say something, but he’s too distracted by Shiro’s frankly massive dick print in those little shorts he’s wearing, and then by the silver dress hugging Shiro’s waist once he tugs it up. He’s actually relatively slim at his waist, now that he’s looking— it’s easy to overlook given the massive shoulders, Keith thinks. He’ll need to compensate with the hips and butt, but Shiro’ll have an hourglass figure by the end of the day. 

Shiro’s smiling at him, something expectant in his expression. Keith glances down, stepping closer and fiddling with the dress, making sure it fits right. He’ll have to change the neckline, shorten the sleeves a bit— maybe make it sleeveless to show off his biceps— and take him in at the waist. 

Keith startles when Shiro’s hands touch his hips, holding him. He jerks his head up to blink at Shiro. 

Shiro lifts his hands away almost immediately, blushing and holding his hands up. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t— I don’t know—” 

He fumbles and falls quiet, biting his lip. Keith’s vividly aware of the cameras around them, knows the producers are going to eat this shit up. He must look ridiculous. He can guess the confessionals now: _Thirsty’s not the only queen living up to that name today, you hear me?_

“It’s okay,” Keith answers and dares to run his hands up Shiro’s chest, resting them there. He can feel the pulse of Shiro’s heartbeat beneath one palm. He’s so _responsive._ “How… How do you feel? Comfortable?” He clears his throat. “The dress, I mean.” 

“Definitely comfortable,” Shiro says, his hands finding Keith’s hips again, tentatively. Keith can’t help the appreciative shiver, feeling the wide drag of Shiro’s palms, big and firm and weighty at his hips. Shiro grins. “I never thought I’d wear a dress. I probably look silly.” 

“You look perfect,” Keith dismisses. He holds up a finger. “Rule number one of drag, babe. You have to be confident. You’re hot and you know it. Got it?” 

“Got it,” Shiro whispers, face pink. 

“And you’ll look even better once I’m done with you.” He frowns, assessing Shiro’s chest— absolutely not ogling it, _assessing_ it— and ghosts his fingers through the swath of hair peeking up past the neckline. “How do you feel about shaving? I can alter the neckline to cover you if you’d rather—” 

“Let’s do it,” Shiro announces, interrupting. 

“Really?” 

“I’m all in,” Shiro declares, grinning. “I want to make sure you win this thing, Ness.” 

Keith snorts at the name but feels a shimmer of pleasure twirl in his gut. He grins, stepping away from Shiro and grabbing his hand, leading him out from behind the dressing screen and back towards his work station. 

“It is a shame,” Keith sighs a few minutes later as flips the electric razor on and glides it down. He’s trying, desperately, to grab some semblance of control over himself. Thunderstorm Darkness has never been so goddamn flustered and it’s an embarrassment. Keith flicks his hair from his face. 

“What is?” Shiro prompts.

Keith cleans the razor and lets out a dramatic sigh, fluttering his eyelashes. “I love a man with body hair.” 

Shiro snorts a laugh and grins. “Sorry to be a disappointment.” 

“I’m sure I’ll recover,” Keith simpers, shaving Shiro’s arm and then coaxing him to slip the dress off down to his hips so he can shave his chest, too. 

“Whatever it takes to win, yeah?” Shiro asks and Keith nods absently. Shiro tilts his head, watching Keith as he passes his hand absently over his chest, playing with his chest hair. “Have you been doing well in the competition?” 

“Yes,” Keith answers, honestly. “Everyone here’s won at least one challenge. I’ve won twice now, though.” 

Shiro nods. “Then I’m honored to help you make it three.” 

“There’s that confidence,” Keith says, winking. Shiro laughs and it rumbles up from his chest.

“I can tell you know your stuff,” Shiro says, dipping his chin to watch Keith pull the razor gently down his chest. “… I know it must not be fun all the time— reality shows always seems so stressful— but this is fun. I mean… I’m having fun.” 

“Yeah,” Keith answers. “It’s fun.” 

Shiro glances up, meeting Keith’s eyes. Keith holds them, smiling a little, wondering what it is that Shiro sees when he looks at him. Keith knows he isn’t imagining the spark. 

He ducks his head, focusing on shaving Shiro’s chest. He rests one hand on his shoulder, gently, focusing on the drag of the blade, the naked strip of Shiro’s skin unearthed in the razor’s path. He watches the swell of Shiro’s chest as he breathes, the flex of his stomach as he shifts. God, he really is a mess. 

He glances up through his bangs at Shiro and finds Shiro looking at him, his eyes deep and dark. He doesn’t look away from Keith when he notices him looking, instead smiling a little slower, gentler, just a flash of dimples in a casual devastation to Keith’s fraying self-control. 

“Yes?” Keith asks, flipping his hair and tilting his head. 

“Nothing, just…” Shiro flounders, looking embarrassed. He grins. “You really do have pretty eyes.” 

Keith snorts, cleaning off the razor and then doing one final swipe. He takes up a wet cloth and cleans him down. If he lingers a moment longer than strictly necessary, he doubts Shiro’s going to point it out or judge him for it. 

Too late he realizes the snort was very much counter to his general persona. He turns his head, tugging his supplies back towards him. “You can put your dress back on, sweetheart.” 

Shiro obeys him, still grinning, wriggling a little to shimmy back into the sleek silver material. He sits expectantly once he’s dressed, leaning a little bit closer towards Keith. 

“Give me your hand,” Keith says, holding one of his out. Shiro places it in his and Keith’s once again floored by the sheer size of his hand. He hopes he doesn’t sound squeaky when he says, “I’m going to paint your nails now.” 

“Alright,” Shiro says, easily. 

Keith nods, unscrewing the top off the polish. He used to hate the smell of it, but now it brings him some comfort— reminds him of getting ready, of all the nights struggling to get here. It was a fun road, yes, but it took a lot of work for him to feel comfortable in his persona, to be successful enough to land a place on this show, and to be so close to winning it all. 

His smile must turn nostalgic because Shiro makes a soft sound, not interrupting, just observing. Keith flickers his eyes towards him and back again, dabbing the polish brush on the side of the bottle before swiping his thumb over Shiro’s knuckles and dragging his hand closer towards him.

Keith holds Shiro’s hand gently in his, painting the first nail a delicate silver. Shiro’s hands are nice, big and certain in Keith’s. His fingers are thick but graceful, nails finely trimmed and hands lightly callused— the consequences of his profession, Keith figures. He looks pretty in silver. 

He doesn’t let himself get distracted with imaging those hands on his body properly, those fingers inside him, pressing into his mouth, gagging him, or sweeping down his body, curled around him and tugging. 

The swipe of the little brush nearly hits Shiro’s cuticle rather than his nail. Keith clears his throat, feeling his cheeks turn pink. He thinks about this massive hand lifting, cupping his cheek, thumb swiping so delicately over his mouth. He thinks of it pressing against his neck, not choking but a heady presence as Shiro leans in closer, ghosting his mouth to his. 

Keith squirms in his seat. He paints Shiro’s pinky and then gives Shiro’s hand one final squeeze before letting go. He eyes his prosthetic. 

“… I’m not sure if nail polish’ll be a good idea,” Shiro says, laughing, noticing where Keith’s eyes fall. He wriggles the metal fingers at him. “No fingernails.” 

Keith catches his hand anyway, drawing it closer to examine it. The metal’s cool to the touch but not cold, smooth and sleek, each finger crafted and shaped almost exactly like Shiro’s other hand— thick, fluid, and graceful. It’s true there aren’t any fingernails, though, just smoother ends of each finger, mimicking the visual. 

“It’s a nice design,” Keith says, absently, and Shiro hums in agreement. Keith traces his fingers over Shiro’s absently, across his palm, and down his wrist. No tendons or hair here, just metal in the shape of muscles, the whirl of movement as Shiro’s arm shifts subtly. “Can you feel me?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro answers. “It’s not the same as my other arm, but I can feel sensation. Touch, temperature, that kind of thing. It’s really high-tech.” 

Keith hums absently, dragging his fingertips up his forearm and settling in the dip of his elbow. Even the jointwork is impressive, seamless. He can feel Shiro watching him, and Keith’s not sure what it is he’s looking for, why he’s lingering here. He licks his lips, his fingers touching the curve of Shiro’s bicep, that spot between metal and flesh, the lacework of scarring there. 

“I’m not ashamed of it,” Shiro says as the silence lulls between them. “It’s part of me now, you know? Sometimes people stare, but… I’m still me.” 

Keith smiles, something panging in his heart. “I know the feeling.” 

“Guess it’s a bit like this,” Shiro observes, because he’s sweet and generous. His hand lifts, touching Keith’s hand, too, tracing down his fingertips and glancing over Keith’s painted nails— he’ll need to replace the deep red with a new color for their performance, Keith thinks absently before his brain short-circuits at Shiro’s glancing touch. 

“Yes,” Keith agrees. “I love what I do, but you know people don’t understand.” 

“Sure,” Shiro answers. He smiles, sweet and looking so young for half a breath. “Bet people stare sometimes, huh?” 

“Sometimes,” Keith agrees. 

“I bet a lot of them do because you’re so beautiful, though,” Shiro says, so casually that Keith almost thinks he mishears. But then Shiro gives him that coy smile again, curving up into his dimples, and his eyes are sparkling, almost mischievous. 

Keith can’t help his laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere, mister.”

Shiro’s smile widens. “Really? Should I stop?” 

Keith twists the cap back onto his nail polish and packs it away. He glances at Shiro side-long, smirking. “Don’t you dare.” 

-

Several hours into the competition and Keith thinks things are going well. He finishes some seamwork on Shiro’s outfit so that the dress hugs his waist. He has his hips, butt, and breasts ready to go. 

He fixes the tendrils of the pink wig he’s had Shiro try on, studying him with an assessing eye. “… What do you think of the pink?” 

Shiro turns to observe himself in the mirror and Keith’s heart leaps to watch that split second where Shiro studies himself and then recognizes himself. He watches Shiro light up, eyes bright and sweet as he lifts his hand, tentatively touching the fluffy cotton-candy pink bangs fanned over his forehead. 

“I like it,” Shiro says in a tiny voice, like now that he’s admitted as much, Keith’s going to snatch it away. 

Instead, Keith loops his arm through Shiro’s, leaning his cheek against Shiro’s shoulder, observing him in the mirror. 

“You look good, Shiro,” Keith says, quietly. 

Shiro smiles, and his cheeks are nearly as pink as the wig. Keith can’t wait to dress him up the rest of the way, can’t wait to see how happy Shiro looks once he’s in his full ensemble. 

“Guess I can’t really go by Shiro on the stage, right?” Shiro asks. 

Keith nods, humming. “Proper drag daughters take their drag mother’s last name, sort of an homage. We aren’t required to do that here if you don’t want to since it’s not an official mentorship, but…” 

“I like it,” Shiro says, grinning. “So it’s like… similar names?” 

“Mm,” Keith answers, jerking his chin towards Thirsty and their soldier. “That’s Thirsty River. They’ll probably name their daughter Brooke or something punny.”

“Miss Honey and Honey Bear,” Shiro offers and Keith laughs. 

“Kind of,” Keith agrees, twirling a piece of pink hair around the tip of his finger, letting his knuckle brush along the backside of Shiro’s ear, just to feel him shiver. “No queen wants to be associated with bears, though, sweetheart.” 

“Right,” Shiro says, eyes scanning himself in the mirror but focusing on the subtle movement of Keith’s hand. “So I guess since you’re Thunder I’d be Lightning?” 

“If you’d like,” Keith says. “Or something to do with darkness.” 

Shiro crosses his arms, considering. He turns away from the mirror to study Keith’s face, as if pulling inspiration from him. Keith waits, patiently, not wanting to interrupt him. 

“… I guess I can’t just go by Shiro, huh?” Shiro asks.

“No, babe. No queen goes by her name,” Keith says, laughing. 

“Jiro?” 

“No.” 

Keith can’t help his endeared smile when Shiro scrunches his face up, trying to think. 

“Hmmm… I guess Lightning Darkness sounds like an oxymoron,” Shiro murmurs to himself, considering. He brightens up. “What if I did space-themed? It’d fit our dance and space is dark.” 

“Good idea,” Keith offers, curious to see what Shiro comes up with.

“… Solarstorm Darkness?” Shiro asks, grinning. 

Keith wrinkles his nose even if he can’t fight his little smile. “That might be too niche, babe.” 

“Hmmm, you’re right,” Shiro sighs, crossing his arms and face scrunching up as he thinks. “Nebula? Nova? Comet? Moonlight? Luna? Hm…” He murmurs to himself, running through the options, fingers tapping a steady rhythm against his arm, but all Keith can think about is hearing that low murmuring voice pressed to his ear, those thick fingers drumming down his skin instead. 

Keith’s not sure what’s wrong with him. He’s found people attractive before— he’s not a nun, even if that’s what Thunderstorm Darkness dressed up as last week— but he’s never felt so viscerally connected to another man before. And Shiro’s so sweet, so bright and smiling and gentle, so _big_. Keith knows he’s doomed. 

“What do you think?” Shiro asks, big puppy eyes and all. 

Keith smiles, helplessly. “You have to pick your own drag name. It’ll mean more if you do. Which one do you like?” 

Shiro’s quiet for a moment, considering, and maybe a little shy when he admits, “Moonlight?” 

It’s still a bit of an oxymoron, but Keith can’t help but smile, nodding his head in approval— not that Shiro needs it. Still, the way Shiro lights up is nothing like moonlight, far too bright and leaving Keith breathless. 

“I like it,” Keith says, smiling, “I can call you Moony.” 

Moony, like his smile. Moony, like the way Keith feels with his heart flipping in his chest. 

Shiro laughs, blushing. “What, like Harry Potter?” 

“Sure,” Keith says rather than admit the truth, dragging his hand absently over Shiro’s thigh just to feel him. He wants to sling himself into his lap right here, right now. But he can be professional. “Alright, Moonlight Darkness. Let’s get you dolled up. We have to go practice our dance.” 

-

Keith and Shiro weave through the back rooms towards the performance stage. Without the judges and the dramatic lighting, it’s a little dull but Shiro still looks delighted, looking around the open space with a wide grin as Keith guides him up onto the catwalk. He wobbles once on his heels and then holds steady, his silver dress swishing sweetly around his knees. 

He looks so— sweet, really. He hasn’t been fully transformed yet, wearing a pink wig but no figure or stockings, the dress hanging off his shoulders. But he looks _thrilled_ , eyes sparkling in the hanging lights. 

Keith just wants to spend the rest of the competition staring at him. He wants to do nothing but get lost in Shiro’s obvious joy. 

But he also has a competition to win. He flicks his wrists up and claps his hands to grab Shiro’s attention. He swivels his head obediently towards Keith, expectantly. 

“Let’s choreograph this thing,” Keith announces, hands on his hips and throwing Shiro a wink for good measure. 

They work through the choreography together— Shiro follows Keith every step of the way, accommodating and graceful. He’s a perfect partner: willing to take advice and to go where Keith’s whims take them. By the end of their practice time, Shiro’s swaying his hips, twirling on his toes, and flipping his hair with the best of them. 

“How do you feel?” Keith asks as they glide across the catwalk together. They hit the end, pivot, and sway past one another. Moonlight’s exploring this new, alien world only to encounter Thunderstorm’s alien mystique. As they orbit one another, they slowly fall back towards the center, unstoppable objects drawn ever closer to each other by gravity. 

Once they’re close again, Shiro gives his answer, bright, sweet and earnest: “I feel alive.” 

Keith misses his next cue, stumbling through his own choreography. The words arrest him, throw him completely off balance. Shiro’s hands are gentle but firm when they land on Keith’s hips, righting him before he goes toppling off the stage. 

“Really?” Keith asks, and can’t help but sound so hopeful, so delighted just by the prospect of it. He never would have imagined that sharing this part of his life with someone could make him feel so— happy. 

Shiro nods, his expression far gentler now. He’s still holding Keith by his hips. He looks at Keith, seems to _really_ look at Keith, meeting his eyes for a long moment. He hesitates, looks like he might say something else, and then just breathes out.

“Really,” he agrees. “I feel so happy right now.” He grins, and there’s no artifice to it— just pure, wonderful Shiro. “But I’ll be even happier when we win this thing.” 

Keith laughs, dropping his hands to cover Shiro’s, and squeezing. “I’m glad, Shiro.” 

Shiro nods and squeezes Keith’s hips in turn. Keith feels his heart leap up in his chest, squeezed tight. The urge to tug Shiro down and kiss him is so sudden and so overwhelming that Keith can think of nothing but the plump shape of Shiro’s mouth, how sweetly he smiles, the perfect arch of his cupid’s bow. He wants to trace Shiro’s mouth with his teeth, with his fingertips, with his tongue. He wants to devour Shiro. 

“Thank you, Keith,” Shiro says, quietly, and just like before, Keith feels himself shiver at the sound of his name on Shiro’s lips. He wants to hear the way Shiro says his name in all contexts. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Keith answers. 

Shiro squeezes his hips, just a flex of his hands, but definitive. Shiro’s smile is gentler now, heartfelt and handsome. “Today’s been really fun. I… I really needed this. I’m glad you picked me.”

“Me too,” Keith answers, faintly. 

“You… you have no idea what this all means to me,” Shiro says, quiet and vulnerable. 

Keith doesn’t know what to say and can only nod. If he were better in general, he’d know exactly what to say, he thinks. 

They hold like that, quiet for a long moment, just staring at each other. It’s so different from the hectic flurry of this competition, of always working, always running, always hurrying. Keith’s still aware of the bored cameraman recording them right now, can just imagine the way they’ll spin this in the edits. But there’s something nice about just being still, just being quiet, with Shiro smiling down at him like he’s the entire world. 

“From the top again?” Shiro asks in a quiet, heated murmur. 

Keith nods, luxuriating in the feeling of Shiro’s hands on his hips, before he steps back and sweeps his hand up the catwalk. “Let’s do it, babe.” 

-

“I’m supposed to look like you, right?” Shiro asks as Keith sweeps the gluestick over his eyebrows. 

“Mm,” Keith agrees, focusing on getting each hair of Shiro’s incredibly thick eyebrows patted down. They’re so thick, but just as silver as his hair. “You’re in my drag house. There’s supposed to be a ‘family resemblance.’” 

“Is the pink wig too much, then?” Shiro wonders. “Should I wear the same color as you?” 

“If you’ve got the same face as me, it’ll be fine. Which means… let me paint you, babe, hold still,” Keith scolds when Shiro keeps moving around. “I have to keep you even.” 

Shiro stills obediently, blinking owlishly at him. 

“Besides,” Keith continues, focusing on Shiro’s eyebrows. “You’re the cutesy, sunshiney astronaut. Being all bubblegummy works for the performance. You bring light to the lonely alien’s life.” 

For a moment, Keith knows he sounds too vulnerable. Shiro bites his lip, his eyes glowing. He looks so much like he wants to say something, but he’s taken Keith’s instructions of holding still to mean, apparently, don’t talk, either. It’s cute that he thinks talking affects his eyebrows. Then again, Shiro’s pretty expressive. 

“Yes?” he prompts before Shiro can start squirming. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Yes, handsome,” Keith tuts. “Have more faith in me that I can make you look like me even without resorting to the same wig.” 

Across the work room, Thirsty scoffs loudly. Then again, they’ve chosen the same blue wig for their performance with their drag daughter, so Thirsty probably thinks Keith’s throwing shade. And maybe he is. Again, that’s up for the producers to decide. 

He caps the glue and sets it aside, fingers ghosting Shiro’s cheeks, tipping his face at the angle he wants. 

“I’ll make you beautiful,” Keith reassures him. 

Shiro smiles. “I know.” He pauses, then says, “Baby.” 

Keith nearly drops his concealer, so startled by the pet name. 

“Sorry!” Shiro says, blushing. “Uh, just, you keep calling me names and I thought it was a, uh, a drag thing—” 

“It’s okay,” Keith squeaks out, then clears his throat. Get it together. “You just surprised me.” 

It’s true that it’s part of Thunderstorm’s shtick. Keith rarely ever calls people by nicknames in the day-to-day, and he’s never been much for pet names directed towards him. But, as seems to be a running theme for today, Shiro’s making him quickly reexamine that. 

He swallows, clicking open the concealer, squinting at Shiro’s face, studying the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the masculine cut of his jaw. He focuses on _that_ and not how handsome he is, or the fact that he just called him baby. 

“I already told you that you can call me whatever you’d like,” Keith says and congratulates himself on sounding so even-footed again. 

“Okay, baby,” Shiro says, more confident this time. Keith can’t help but smile as he dots the concealer beneath Shiro’s eyes, focusing on covering up his face so he can add the translucent powder next. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Keith answers. 

He works diligently, alternating between the concealer and translucent powder to seal up Shiro’s face. He takes his time creating Shiro’s brows, recreating Keith’s traditional arch, but sweetening the edges for Shiro’s persona. 

The more Keith works, the stiller Shiro holds himself— taking it seriously now, unwilling to distract or disrupt Keith’s process. And Keith takes his time, pours all the care he can into making Shiro’s look. He gives Shiro the same customary shadowed look, sweeping across his brow and lining his lower lids. 

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” Keith asks, smiling, as he has zero issue applying Shiro’s false eyelashes. They fan across Shiro’s cheeks, fluttering like butterfly wings. Shiro smiles, sweet and just a little coy, and shakes his head. Keith laughs, cupping Shiro’s chin to hold him steady, smiling. “You’re a natural, babe.” 

“You think so?” Shiro asks, not even bothering to conceal his hopeful tone.

Keith smiles, swiping his thumb over Shiro’s bottom lip while he still can without fear of smearing any makeup. “You’re gorgeous.”

Shiro barely contains his grin, but only because he puckers his lips up instead, teasing, and blows Keith a kiss. 

“Save some of the flirting for the runway,” Keith jokes.

“I’ve got plenty to spare,” Shiro protests. “Could flirt with you all day.” 

Keith shakes his head, fondly, preparing to contour Shiro’s face. His stomach is a squirmy, happy mess. He’s never going to recover from this man, he can already tell. 

“Charmer,” Keith whispers. He wonders if Shiro would still feel that way if he really was just _Keith_ and not Thunderstorm Darkness. She affords him more confidence. The cameras afford him more confidence. It’s different when he isn’t performing. He wonders if Shiro recognizes that. 

It’s meticulous work, getting Shiro’s face ready for the runway. But Keith’s willing to put in that time— willing to make Shiro beautiful. He wants Shiro to feel confident, sexy and free. He wants Shiro to enjoy this whole process, to not regret coming on this show. 

Mostly, he just wants to see Shiro smile that unbridled grin, wonders what it’ll look like with cat eyes and fanning purple-pink eyeshadow. Shiro is _beautiful_. He wants him to feel it. 

“Finished!” he announces, capping the lipstick and placing it back in the makeup bag. Shiro’s contoured, shadowed, cat-eyed, and blended to perfection. Keith knows he’s outdone himself. 

“Oh,” Shiro says, hand lifting almost automatically to touch his face. 

Keith slaps his hand away. “Ruin my work and I ruin you.” 

“Sorry!” Shiro laughs, and there’s that flash of his smile again— it lights up his face, his eyes crinkling around his fake eyelashes and eyeshadow. 

Keith claps his hands together, winking. “Now, we have to get the rest of you ready.”

“Oh. Do you mean—” 

“Time to get pretty. And to tuck,” Keith says, hopping off the stool, taking Shiro by the hand, and pulling him back towards the modesty screen. 

The only downside to Shiro’s fully painted face is that Keith can’t see that adorable blush anymore. Even if he can’t see it, he likes to think he’s pink-cheeked. 

“Is it— um.” 

Keith hums, digging out the supplies and waving Shiro closer. “It won’t hurt, but it’s going to be uncomfortable. You’ll want to be careful sitting down.” 

“Ha, got it,” Shiro says and looks a little bit excited beneath the hesitancy. 

“I’ll help,” Keith says. 

Shiro gives a little cough, ducking his head as he slips his hands underneath his dress and tugs down those obscenely tight boxer briefs from earlier. 

“So, how do I—” 

“Basically, you’re going to pull things in different directions, and then we’re going to hold it in place.” 

Keith picks up the multiple pairs of pantyhose and approaches Shiro, ready to help and not absolutely overthinking that his offer for help means handling Shiro. He can be clinical about it if he has to— tucking is hardly comfortable, but Keith’s used to it by now. 

Shiro glances at the modesty screen and then back at Keith. Then, looking down, he slips his dress off his shoulders and lets it drop, leaving him naked in front of Keith. 

Keith definitely drops a pair of pantyhose. 

“Oh,” he squeaks.

Flustered, Shiro drops his hands out in front of him, almost covering himself but not quite— not that his hands are big enough to quite manage it all. Keith is definitely staring. 

“Well,” Keith says, faintly, voice strained, “This is going to be a… a long process. A very… long, and um… _big_ process.” 

Shiro sputters but Keith thinks that, beneath it all, Shiro’s looking a bit smug. 

Keith really should stop being a creep. He manages to stare at Shiro’s stomach instead, but that’s hardly better. Numbly, he kneels, picking up a pair of pantyhose. 

“Alright,” Keith says, and with great, Herculean effort that he feels needs more congratulations than he receives, helps Shiro tuck for the first time. 

As with all things from today, Shiro is a real sport. He takes it in stride and slips into the main pairs of pantyhose and lets Keith duct tape his gaff in place. For one helpless moment, Keith fears that maybe even when tucked, people will somehow be able to _tell_ what Shiro’s packing, but by the end of it, even with a loose tuck, he looks relatively smooth. His dress isn’t super form-fitting, either, so he’ll be fine. 

With that and the added hips, ass, and breasts Keith’s made for him, Shiro’s near-ready. 

“Perfect,” Keith announces as Shiro tentatively slips on the last pair of dark hose, smoothing himself out and, with it, obscuring his leg hair. 

He helps Shiro step into his dress and pins his wig for him. Once finished, Keith steps back, observing. 

Keith grins and Shiro grins back, elated by Keith’s reaction. 

“How do I look?” 

“A damn hot lady,” Keith says, leading Shiro out from behind the modesty screen. “Take a look.” 

He leaves Shiro to preen at himself in the mirror as Keith finishes getting ready himself. He’s a much quicker process than Shiro, freshening up and perfecting his face and slipping into his sleek purple and black catsuit. In an ideal world, he’d love to do something more obviously alien— purple skin, maybe, some face stripes— but he’s working with limited time and resources. This will have to do. 

“Ready?” Keith asks Shiro, coming up behind him.

He looks at the way Shiro watches himself in the mirror, how happy his smile is. It only widens when he turns to look at Keith, taking in his finished look. 

Behind Keith, producers call for the ladies to line up and get ready. 

“Wow,” Shiro says. “You really are good at this.”

“That’s why we’re going to win,” Keith answers, smiling confidently and holding out his hand to Shiro.

Shiro takes it, threading their fingers together, and Keith leads him back towards the lounge to wait their turns for judgement. 

-

Keith and Shiro perform third in line, and it goes flawlessly. The music cues up and Shiro and Keith strut down the catwalk together, arm in arm. Shiro hits his marks, legs crossing as he walks, popping his hip as he poses. He’s grinning ear-to-ear the entire time and Keith can’t fault him. Keith keeps his eyes on him as they perform, worried that Shiro might fall out of time or miss a step. 

He doesn’t. Shiro’s flawless, living it up and enjoying every moment of it. It shines clear on his face and it makes Keith’s heart ache to watch him. As they transition from their runway walk to their dance performance, it’s clear that Shiro’s a born performer. His expressions are over the top, including a comedic double-take when he “sees” the sexy space alien for the first time. 

When they meet in the middle of the stage, orbiting each other, his arm curls sure and firm around Keith’s waist, guiding them through their elaborate choreography. It ends with Shiro dipping Keith easily, grinning at him, his pink hair falling against Keith’s cheeks. Keith grins back, his hand ghosting over Shiro’s cheek— wanting to touch, but not daring to smear his makeup. 

Shiro rights Keith again— time for them to walk back down the runway and finish their run. Their original plan was to just walk hand-in-hand, pose at the end, and sashay off the stage. 

Struck by a sudden boldness, though, Keith grips Shiro by the shoulders and whispers, “Catch me.” 

Shiro has no time to respond before Keith’s hoisting himself up. But Shiro does indeed catch him as Keith flies into his arms. Shiro holds him up, bridal style, and Keith does an elaborate swoon, hand posed on his forehead and leg popping out in a pointe. 

Shiro’s quick to adapt, spinning once and then carrying him down the runway, pausing at the end to dip Keith and then swirl them both behind the curtain one last time. 

It’s perfect, and as soon as they’re out of sight of the judges— and god, he’d forgotten entirely to even assess how the judges were receiving them, the first time in this competition that he’s utterly forgotten about their presence— Keith can’t help but laugh, gripping Shiro tight and grinning up at him.

“You were perfect!” Keith says, eager and so excited. 

Shiro grins back at him, pushing some of the hair away from Keith’s face, tucking a long piece of black hair from his wig back behind his ear and cupping the back of his neck. He doesn’t pull Keith in closer, but it’s a familiar, delicate weight. Keith wants to drown in the feeling of Shiro all around him. 

“You were the perfect one,” Shiro answers, grinning. “Wow, I just… Wow, Storm.” 

“Yeah,” Keith breathes. He curls his fingers around Shiro’s wrist, keeping it there. “Wow.”

Keith wants to say something more— wants to just spend hours talking with Shiro— but not long after the last of the queens perform, they’re all called back out onto the stage. Keith grips Shiro’s hand and refuses to let go, their fingers threaded together. He doesn’t know what to expect, but he’s proud of what they accomplished. 

Once they’re back on stage, Coran launches straight into praise and critique, working down the line to each queen and daughter. Keith half-expects Shiro to let go of his hand, but he doesn’t, keeping their fingers threaded. Keith finds it centering, calming in a way he’s never truly felt while at the judgement stage of the competition. He leans a little against Shiro’s arm and feels him leaning back. 

“Thunderstorm Darkness,” Coran says, all dolled up in an elaborate getup, as usual for judging, massive red wig curled up in elaborate shapes. “And Moonlight Darkness.” 

Keith glances up at Shiro and finds Shiro already looking back at him, smiling. 

“I have to say,” Allura, the second judge, pipes up, “I think this is the first time we’ve seen you smile during a routine, Thunderstorm. It’s a lovely choice and suits well with your daughter.” 

Keith’s smile softens, tilting his head and batting his lashes up at Shiro. “She has that effect. Should have named her Sunshine.” 

Shiro grins wider, looking delighted, and squeezes Keith’s hand. The judges let up a theatric chorus of _aww_ ’s, and Keith suspects some of it is performative for the cameras. But Keith can’t quite manage to tear his eyes away from Shiro, smiling up at him— and hopes he knows he means it. 

As usual for his routines, the judges praise Keith on innovation and creativity. They compliment Shiro’s costuming and body sculpting. They do end up critiquing Shiro’s pink wig, noting it might be too different from Keith’s more subdued black wig. Keith nods, accepting the critique but unwilling to regret letting Shiro wear it. 

The judges move on with their critiques for the remaining queens, and it’s a similar bag— Thirsty’s criticized for relying on similar wigs to portray a family resemblance, Miss Honey’s praised for her daughter’s face but scolded for lackluster choreography, Enchanté Frisée’s hilarious routine receives high praise, and Quinn Tessence receives scathing reviews of her daughter’s poorly made-up face. 

“Ladies,” Coran announces, “Thank you for an exciting family reunion runway!” There’s the usual spiel of one winner, two losers, and lipsyncing for your life. Keith mostly tunes it out now. “Daughters,” Coran continues, “Thank you for joining us today. You’ve brought out the best in your mothers!” 

Keith grins up at Shiro. Seized by a familiar boldness, he takes up their joined hands and kisses the back of Shiro’s hand, brushing his mouth lightly over his knuckles, eyes locked with his. He thinks he hears Allura say, _Isn’t that sweet?_ but ignores it. All that matters is Shiro, the gentle way his expression softens and he utterly beams at Keith. 

They’re invited to leave the stage as the judges deliberate. It’s standard stuff— resetting the stage, adjusting the lights, doing some quick confessional interviews from each queen. 

Keith sighs, leaning back against the wall, Shiro hovering beside him. 

“Do you think we won?” Shiro asks. 

Keith considers. “They might give it to Frisée. We’ll see.” 

“… This was a lot of fun,” Shiro says, tucking his hands behind him as he leans against the wall beside Keith. He bites his lip and then seems to correct himself, worried he’s smeared his lipstick. He touches absently at his lip and draws his thumb back, but there’s no stain of color there. 

Keith rolls his shoulder and turns towards Shiro, looking up at him through his lashes. “I’m glad you had fun, Moony.” 

Shiro giggles. “Moony… Yeah.” He smiles, mostly to himself, taken by some secret thought he doesn’t share with Keith. He shakes his head and looks at Keith. “I mean it. I really had fun. I didn’t— I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.” 

“Still feel alive?” Keith asks, hushed. 

Shiro nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I really do. I saw the casting call for this and decided to apply on a whim. I’m… I’m really glad I did. I don’t know. I’ve been kind of stuck in my own head these last few months. I needed something to break me out of my shell.” 

He turns more towards Keith, his hands falling to cup Keith’s hips. He frowns when he feels the padding there and then, tentatively, slides his big hands up— resting them at Keith’s waist instead. They’re so big, settled there, like they’re just a few inches away from wrapping around Keith’s waist entirely. Keith welcomes the touch, creeping a little closer to Shiro. 

“Good,” Keith murmurs. “You deserve to be happy.”

Shiro laughs, not quite strained but perhaps surprised. Keith wonders when the last time someone told Shiro that was. “Thank you.” 

Keith hums, content to linger close to Shiro. Their time together keeps creeping closer to its end, he realizes belatedly. Shiro isn’t part of this competition. He’s going to leave soon. 

“I’m glad I won that stupid mini-challenge,” Keith mutters. “Means I got to pick you.” 

Shiro laughs, quieter, and squeezes Keith’s waist. “I’m glad you picked me.” 

Keith wonders just how damning the footage is going to be later, looking back on this entire day— wonders just how many moments he’s slipped off into silence just smiling up at Shiro like a lovestruck fool. Keith can’t even really be embarrassed about it, swept up by how kind and gentle Shiro is.

“Hey,” Shiro says, quietly, “Maybe, after all this is over… uh. If you want, that is, I mean…”

He trails off helplessly. Keith waits a beat and then says, quietly, “Remember, babe. Confidence?” 

Shiro laughs, blowing out a low breath and then nodding. His hands tighten on Keith’s waist and he tips his chin down, staring at Keith. “I want to see you again, after this.” 

Keith glances down, running his hands up Shiro’s arms and settling them at his shoulders, gripping tight. He pauses for a moment, swallowing down thickly, before he nods his head. “I’d like that.” 

Shiro really has no idea just how much he’d like that. 

Meanwhile, Shiro perks up immediately, letting out a breath. He leans down a little bit closer towards Keith. “Great!” 

Keith can’t help a little laugh, looking up at Shiro. If he weren’t already balanced on the tips of his toes because of the heels, he’d be leaning up further. “Yeah.”

“So…” 

Shiro’s mouth quirks when Keith trails off. Quietly, he reminds Keith: “Confidence, baby.” 

Keith laughs and tugs sharply on Shiro’s shoulders. “Come here.” 

Shiro goes. He moves, smooth as silk, turning Keith and pressing him hard up against the wall and bowing into his space. One hand on his waist drops down over his thigh and hitches it up to press against Shiro’s hip as he slots easily between Keith’s legs, presses against him, and catches his mouth with his.

It’s seamless and sensual and it steals Keith’s breath. He actually gasps into Shiro’s mouth as Shiro kisses him. And then the hands gripping Shiro’s shoulders shift up, draping his arms over Shiro’s shoulder and wrapping around the back of his neck, keeping him close as he kisses him back. 

Shiro kisses him slowly, taking his time. He presses close, a hush of his breath against Keith’s. He squeezes Keith’s thigh in a way that is, frankly, just a little obscene, but then his mouth is only sweet as it pillows against Keith’s. Keith absolutely does not whimper, but maybe his lips part just a little, letting Shiro sweep his tongue in. 

It’s a slow kiss, but a filthy kiss. Keith can’t breathe, feels flushed all over. He wriggles helplessly, flexing his leg against Shiro’s hip. It leaves him grinding slow against Shiro. Shiro hitches his breath, something deliberate as he presses full-bodied to Keith. 

Keith feels like he’s about to drown. It’s easy for him to hop up a bit, for one heel to clatter to the floor as he hooks both legs around Shiro’s waist. Shiro catches him easily, his big hands scooping Keith up, cupping the backs of his thighs. 

Keith groans, sucking Shiro’s tongue into his mouth and arching his back. Shiro presses closer, deepening the kiss, licking into his mouth with confidence. His hands flex at Keith’s legs and Keith can’t help the little keening whimper that punches out of him. 

It’s stupid, to be making out like this in the middle of a reality competition. If the cameras aren’t already on them, they will be when a producer pokes her head into call Keith in for his confessional. 

But that doesn’t matter, not when he’s memorizing the swift and talented way Shiro moves his tongue, how drunk he feels just from being in Shiro’s arms, feeling the flex of his body, the slide of his smile against Keith’s mouth. 

Shiro kisses him so sweetly, so filthy, so devastating in his touch. He sighs Keith’s name into his mouth and then sweeps in closer, pressing against Keith. He bites at Keith’s lip just to draw out a whimper, and Keith gives it to him, rocking his body down against him. He feels so small in Shiro’s arms and he loves it. 

Feeling drunk, feeling fuzzy at the edges, Keith finally yanks his mouth away from Shiro’s with a tiny breath. 

“Ah,” he whispers, voice breathless and punched-out. He licks his lips. “Don’t ruin my makeup, sweetheart.” 

“Sorry,” Shiro whispers and doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic. 

Shiro is beyond saving. His lipstick is utterly smeared but he doesn’t even look like he cares, grinning. Keith licks his thumb and rubs at the corner of Shiro’s mouth for him, cleaning away the smear of hot pink. 

Shiro’s eyes are so big, pupils blown wide. He’s breathing heavily, squirming in a way that suggests that the tucking has _really_ started to get uncomfortable. 

Keith drags his thumb over Shiro’s bottom lip, plumping it down. Shiro breathes then presses a kiss to the pad of Keith’s thumb. 

“Do I look okay?” Keith asks, fretting about his own lipstick. 

Shiro is thoroughly unhelpful, looking moony again when he says, quietly, “You’re beautiful.”

“Shiro,” Keith scolds. 

Shiro shakes his head, grinning apologetically as he sets Keith back down. He’s on his knees instantly— so fast that Keith actually goes a little dizzy, wondering what he’s doing— but he just picks up Keith’s discarded heel and helps him step back into it. 

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Keith coos. 

Shiro grins up at him, lifting Keith’s foot and pressing a kiss against his ankle before standing again. 

“Your lipstick isn’t smeared,” Shiro says, finally answering the question. He steps closer again, smiling. “I could ruin it for you if you want, though.” 

Keith leans up and gives him a light peck, sorely tempted, especially when Shiro chases after him for another kiss. They swap kisses back in forth, just breathing in each other’s space, luxuriating in the slide of Shiro’s mouth against his. It’s blissful, the way Shiro presses closer to him, like he can’t get enough, like he’s just as drunk on this as Keith is. 

“Behave, babe,” Keith scolds even as he keeps kissing, hooking his leg around Shiro’s just to feel the full flex of his powerful thigh. “But, mmm…” With deep regret, Keith plants his hands on Shiro’s chest and pushes him back, just a little. “We can’t… not here.” He blinks up at Shiro. “TV show and everything.” 

“Right,” Shiro whispers. His hands return to Keith’s waist, a natural place for them. He looks just as intoxicated by the size of his hands on Keith’s waist as Keith is. It’s thrilling to see. 

Keith licks his lips. “But afterwards…”

“Yeah?” Shiro whispers, thrilled. 

“Yeah,” Keith answers. 

Shiro nods a little and pulls back from Keith. Keith watches, perplexed, as Shiro sticks his hand down his neckline, feeling around beneath his dress, frowning adorably. 

Finally, he finds what he’s looking for, apparently, as he pulls his hand back out, holding a slip of paper— his name and a phone number written in lovely penmanship. 

Keith eyes the slip of paper with Shiro’s number on it and can’t help the unladylike snort. “Ooh, you bad girl. Where were you keeping that?”

Shiro winks, and that’s enough to nearly knock Keith off his feet. “That’s a secret.” 

“And how long have you been holding onto that?” 

Shiro laughs, flustered. “I kept working up the nerve to give it to you. I… I mean. Yeah. Don’t lose it, okay?” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” Keith whispers.

Shiro beams and pinches the front zipper of Keith’s catsuit, easing it down from his chin and exposing the long column of his neck. He pauses there, making sure Keith’s looking when he presses his mouth to the slip of paper, leaving a puckering kiss mark there. He tucks the slip of paper beneath the latex of the catsuit.

“Call me.” 

He zips the suit back up again, all the way up. His fingers brush the underside of Keith’s chin and tips his face up towards him again. Keith sighs when Shiro leans in, kissing him again— sweeter this time, lingering and promising. 

“How am I supposed to wait that long?” Keith grumbles. 

Shiro laughs, pressing a kiss to Keith’s cheek. “Patience, baby.” 

-

Keith and Shiro win the day’s competition. Quinn Tessence’s sent home after lip-syncing for her life with Thirsty River. 

But all Keith can think about is the slip of paper with Shiro’s name on it, wanting nothing more than to call him immediately. But he can be patient. 

-

After Shiro’s departure, the last days of the competition goes by in a blur. Queen after queen is eliminated until there’re only two left, and then the final interviews and confessionals are done. Keith and the other queens sign their NDAs and are sent on their way. 

The schedule means that with the finale wrapped up, some of the episodes have already started airing. Keith gets to watch the third episode his first week home, fresh off competition. He celebrates this freedom by, indeed, starting that drinking game with his parents, snuggled up on the old family couch on Monday night, watching _Coran’s Drag Race_ together.

Keith’s pleasantly surprised that the editing hasn’t made him an outright villain so far. He’s definitely getting painted as confident and a bit moody, but his friendship with Frisée helps soften him, Keith thinks (and he’s looking forward to getting to hang out more with Hunk in real time now that the show’s over). Keith doesn’t really get social media beyond the handle he made for Thunderstorm Darkness, and he rarely pays attention to what other people are saying, about him or otherwise. But since the show ending, he’s been able to line up a few drag night performances, both as a headlining act or as a supporting act. 

Keith anticipates that, as the show continues to air, the opportunities will only grow. He’s excited to see what’s on the horizon. 

His phone burns a hole in his pocket the entire time he’s watching the episode. It isn’t like he’s been overthinking or overanalyzing the best text to send Shiro once he got home or anything. And now that that time’s finally here, he’s at something of a loss for flirty texting. 

As the credits roll on the third episode and Keith and his parents wait for the promo for next week, Keith tugs out his phone and scrolls down to where he’s entered Shiro’s number— his name with rainbow and eggplant emoji as the contact. He can’t even be embarrassed about the emoji’s presence, even as he knows his dad side-glances and catches it. His dad has no idea what the eggplant emoji means, so it’s fine. He hopes. 

Keith takes a deep breath. He just watched himself as Thunderstorm Darkness for an hour. He can channel her confidence. 

He lets his breath out, types out a quick message, and hits send before he can second-guess it. But yes, he immediately second guesses it. 

**Me, sent 9:58pm:** Hey, Moony. Remember me? 

It’s stupid. It’s unflirty. It’s ridiculous. Shiro’s not going to remember him and even if he did, he definitely won’t remember from that text. Keith might be silently freaking out. The promo’s airing, showing plenty of things out of context, complete with Thirsty’s classic open-mouth gasping look and Thunderstorm Darkness’ legendary side-eye. 

Keith’s phone buzzes and he nearly sends it flying across the room in his haste to unlock and read the message. 

**Shiro, sent 9:59pm:** !!!! 

“I, uh,” Keith says, standing. “I’m going… I gotta take a call.” 

He knows it’s thoroughly unconvincing, but thankfully his parents have some mercy on him. His mom’s look is entirely damning, though, with her quirked eyebrows and slanted, smiling mouth. 

“Sure,” his mom says. “Have fun.” 

“We’re going to watch Project Runway next,” his dad says, helpfully, already grabbing at the remote. “I want to see if they’re going to finally boot this Rolo guy or what.” 

Keith gives his parents one last wave before retreating to the room that used to be his childhood bedroom but is now the de facto guest room. He drops down onto the bed and unlocks his phone again, puzzling over Shiro’s response.

He needn’t have puzzled too long; in the time since Keith’s talked to his parents, Shiro’s sent two more texts. 

**Shiro, sent 10:00pm:** it’s so good to hear from you!  
**Shiro, sent 10:00pm:** glad you didn’t lose my number lol

The response is endearing, and any anxiety Keith felt melts away in the face of Shiro’s triple-texting. He smiles, charmed despite himself. 

**Keith, sent 10:03pm:** I promised I wouldn’t. 

He’s settling in for a long text message chat when his phone gives a shrill chirp and starts ringing. Keith startles, nearly sending his phone across the room for the second time. 

He fumbles but manages to answer the phone. “Hey.” 

“Keith! Hi!” Shiro says, and he sounds so damn happy. A flood of warmth rushes through Keith, feeling all tingly just from the sound of Shiro’s voice. It’s just as deep and beautiful as he remembers. Fuck, he’s such a goner. 

“Hi,” Keith says again, remembers that he already said hello, and coughs to hide his embarrassment. “I, uh… Anyway. Yeah. Hi.” 

Smooth. Keith nearly cringes, but Shiro’s already laughing, and that soothes the embarrassment. It’s a warm sound, silky and sweet in Keith’s ear. 

“Sorry it’s so late. Should I not have called?” 

“No, you’re fine,” Keith says quickly, flopping back onto the guest bed and staring up at the ceiling. “I’m glad to hear from you.” 

“You too! I’ve been watching the show. You’re doing great so far! I mean, I already knew you would since, spoiler alert, I know you make it further than what these episodes are showing…” Shiro pauses, laughing. 

“Oh,” Keith breathes, scrambling for some semblance of coolness. He’s not a stupid, blushing wreck over a crush. He’s _not_. “Thanks… Uh, thanks for watching.” 

“Bet you can’t tell me if you won, huh?” 

“I can’t disclose that information,” Keith says but can’t keep the smile out of his tone. 

“I bet you did, anyway,” Shiro says. “You’re amazing. They’d be stupid not to pick you.” 

Keith laughs, blushing. “Thanks, Shiro.” 

Shiro hums and it purrs against Keith’s ear. He feels his blush creep lower down his neck, once again swept up in the sound of Shiro’s voice, imagining what it’d feel like to have Shiro pressed up against him. Their kiss in the back room’s been haunting him ever since it happened. 

“So…” Keith starts. “Uh. How have you been?” 

“Really good!” Shiro says. “I, um… I think I mentioned it on the show, but before getting cast I really thought… I don’t know, I wasn’t in a great place. But things have been so much better since then. I’m doing really well.”

“That’s great, Shiro,” Keith says, his heart twisting up in his chest. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks,” Shiro says, sounding a bit hushed. He laughs, softly. “I really need to thank you, Keith. A lot of what’s been good lately— I mean, I wouldn’t be here without you.” 

“That’s definitely not true,” Keith mutters. “You’re flattering me.” 

“Never,” Shiro insists. There’s a pause. Keith hears Shiro take a breath to steady himself before he asks Keith, “So… Do I get to see you again?” 

His voice sounds so hushed, so hopeful, in Keith’s ear. Keith shivers despite himself and can’t help his little smile. “I sure hope so.” 

Shiro laughs, delighted. “Great!” Keith can hear the eagerness in his voice, and that’s always been a huge ego boost. Shiro asks, “Are you really busy lately? With the show…”

“It’s only just getting started,” Keith answers. “So not quite.” 

“Bet that’ll change once we see you win,” Shiro says and Keith can’t help but smile at Shiro’s confidence in him, warmed all over by it. “We could meet up? There’s a show at the Lion’s Pride Gay Bar this Friday.” 

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. He’d gotten a last-minute request to emcee the drag show. “I’m hosting that.” 

“I know,” Shiro laughs. “I mean… I heard. Um. We could meet up there?” 

“Yeah, Shiro. I’d like that.” 

“I can’t wait to see you,” Shiro says and Keith’s heart leaps again. There’s something about Shiro’s eagerness, his earnestness, that just robs Keith of breath. He’s unapologetic about his happiness, about wanting Keith. Keith’s not used to that. At least when he isn’t Thunderstorm Darkness. 

“Yeah,” Keith breathes.

-

Keith spends the better part of Friday feeling jittery. It’s ridiculous. He hasn’t been jittery before a show in _years_ , and certainly not when he emcees. 

But he can’t deny he has the jitters when it takes him nearly twice as long to apply his face. He nearly stabs himself in the eye when applying his false eyelashes. He stares at himself in the mirror. Thunderstorm Darkness stares back, moody cat-eye and dark shadow, pouty lips and arched brow. Thunderstorm Darkness is fierce, moody, and confident. She doesn’t get all nervous over some _boy._

Maybe if Keith keeps repeating that to himself, it’ll eventually be true. Maybe her confidence will flood through him. 

Keith wonders what Shiro will think, seeing him like this. It’s absurd to feel nervous about it when Shiro’s already seen him in drag. Hell, he loved it, as far as Keith can tell. And Keith isn’t ashamed, not by any means— drag’s meant so much to him over these past years, helped him feel like himself, helped him to express himself. He loves Thunderstorm Darkness— she’s as much a part of him as Keith is. 

He pictures Shiro’s handsome face, beaming up at Keith from the audience. He’ll probably sit in the front row. He’ll probably stare at Keith the whole night rather than at the other queens. That, at least, makes him smile and eases some of the nerves. Just thinking of Shiro’s smile, the way his eyes will light up, the way he’ll follow Keith across the stage with those eyes. 

Keith applies his lipstick, imagining sweeping into the audience— a staple he likes to do during his performance— and pressing a sloppy kiss right on Shiro’s lips, leaving behind enough lipstick to make sure everyone else in the bar knows who Shiro belongs to. 

Emboldened, Keith finishes getting ready, picking out the outfit he thinks Shiro’ll like best— a starry, sleek blue dress that’s always reminded Keith of the night sky. 

An hour later, as he steps onto the stage to riotous cheering, Keith sweeps his eyes across the audience, searching out Shiro. He’s not in the front, nor at the tables nearer to the front. The lighting keeps Keith from squinting comfortably to see if Shiro’s towards the back, or at the bar itself. Undeterred, though, Keith launches into the opening performance and introduction to the night’s events. 

He’s old-hat at emceeing. He hasn’t done it recently, but he’s attended enough drag shows to understand the gist of his duties. He likes events like the ones tonight— a mixed bag of experienced and inexperienced, a way for everyone to just have fun and support each other. Nobody hogs the stage and everyone has fun. 

Not that Keith doesn’t enjoy the longer shows, the shows where queens get to perform for longer beyond just one or two songs. But both types have their charm. 

“Now, as _Mistress_ of Ceremonies,” Keith declares and pauses as the audience starts hooting at him. He tilts his head, puckering his lips, “Just one last performance from me and we can get started. This goes out to a special someone… you know who you are.”

He throws a wink to the crowd as they start cat-calling and he nods to cue up the music. He launches into his performance, lip syncing as he dances across the stage. He does swoop down into the audience, but even once he’s out from under the pulsing, blinding stage lights, he can’t find Shiro. He masks his disappointment by planting a kiss on a girl’s cheek. She squeals loudly, delighted as Keith grinds on her boyfriend’s thigh before he drifts away to the next couple, tapping a man’s lips and tip-toeing his fingers along a girl’s shoulder. It’s fun, it’s effortless, and the crowd goes wild— but Keith doesn’t see Shiro. 

Keith stamps down his disappointment. He has a show to run and he’s going to fucking nail it. He finishes his performance, takes a bow, and introduces the first queen up for the night. He steps off the stage as the queen takes her spot, starting the night off with a rendition of a pop song and accompanying dance. 

The night goes without issue. The audience is drunk and supportive, and performers and audience feed off one another. It’s easy enough to get swept up in the energy of it and even though Thunderstorm Darkness is definitely striking the moody, hard-to-get attitude tonight, he can’t help but quirk a small smile at the performances. Everyone’s lapping it up. 

As Sue Preem exits the stage with a swish of her many skirts and a kiss thrown over her shoulder, Keith steps back up onto stage to introduce the next queen. He’s feeling sorry for himself, but it’ll never show on his face; he didn’t think Shiro was the type to stand him up. But there’s a first time for everything.

Keith steels himself, his smile just on the edge of smirky— another Thunderstorm staple. With a sweep of his arm, Keith calls out over the roaring crowd, “Please give a warm, draggy welcome to Stella Starlight!” 

And nothing in the world could have prepared him for what happens next: at the introduction, the curtain parts dramatically and, with a flourish, out steps Shiro. 

Keith’s grateful he’s already stepped off the stage because otherwise, Keith’s pretty sure he’d have tripped over his stilettos and smashed his head to the floor. 

Shiro slides out from behind the curtains with a little kick of his foot, swaying his hips as the music choice ramps up towards the lyrics. The dress he’s wearing tonight is sinfully tight, hugging over his hips and stopping high up on his thighs. His hair’s a massive, voluminous peachy white, not dissimilar to Allura’s typical style at the judge’s table, Keith thinks. 

It’s been a while since Shiro and Keith’s performance on the show, but the growing confidence in Shiro’s performance is clear— he sways and twirls around the stage, the glitter on his cheeks flashing in the pulsing stage lights. 

He hits his lip-syncing cues perfectly, performative and sweet, winking at the crowd, flipping his hair, and moving on to the next group in the front row. He makes it look _easy_ , the way he sways with the music, the way he smiles down at the crowd. 

He only pauses when he turns and spots Keith at his post. His mouth twitches around the lyrics he’s mouthing, fighting back a wide grin, and Keith can’t help the answering, relieved grin— relief and affection and _desire_ flooding through him. 

Once he sees Keith, Shiro’s trajectory is clear— he dances across the stage, pausing to run his hands down his hips and thighs and then dip to the audience’s delight, curving his spine. During an instrumental break, he calls to the crowd, “Should have called myself Miss Cosmic Cakes since these buns are out of this world.” 

It startles a laugh out of Keith, completely butchering the mood he’s been exuding tonight, but Keith can’t help it— especially when Shiro punctuates his statement with a slap to his own ass. The crowd goes wild, someone in the front row blowing a loud, shrill wolf-whistle. Shiro grins, sweet and almost sinful, strutting his way towards Keith. 

The instrumental break ends and Shiro resumes his lip-syncing. He kneels at the edge of the stage in front of Keith, mouthing the words to his song. Keith’s drawn to him like a moth to the flame, unable to even attempt to muffle his wide smile. Shiro smiles around the words, hands lifting to cup Keith’s jaw and tilt his face up so they’re staring into each other’s eyes. 

The crowd hoots behind them but Keith doesn’t care, second-nature to perform and struck utterly by Shiro’s confidence. His hands fall on Shiro’s thighs and drag upward, toying at the edge of his slinky, clingy dress. 

Shiro turns Keith’s face once the song breaks into a shorter instrumental break, and plants a wet kiss on his cheek. Keith knows there’s going to be a fat kiss mark left on his cheek and he’s thrilled, grinning up at Shiro as Shiro winks and pulls away, blowing kisses to the crowd as they continue to catcall him, fueled on by the attention paid to Keith. 

Keith could watch hours of Shiro’s performance and suddenly he deeply regrets the format for tonight’s performance. Shiro’s stolen the show entirely. And Keith never wants to stop watching him.

Never mind Keith marking Shiro as his, now Keith’s the one caught— hook, line, and sinker. 

-

Keith knows he rushes through the last few queens’ introductions and definitely the close-out of the event. The audience hardly notices, already drunk and a little rowdy. The bar’s open well into the night and though the actual show’s over, the crowd’s not likely to disperse. Most of the queens stick around afterwards, milking the crowd and enjoying drinks at the bar. 

As soon as Keith’s returned the mic to its stand, he turns and exits, hurrying backstage to find Shiro. 

Backstage, there are a few queens undressing to head home, but most are touching themselves up before heading out to work the crowd. Keith usually likes this state of disarray— drag queens thick in their element, high off their performance. Today, Keith just wants to shove everyone aside until he sees Shiro. 

Shiro’s towards the back of the room, fixing his wig. As Keith approaches, he sees a flash of himself in the mirror— kiss mark prominent on his cheek. He stops behind Shiro, hands on his hips. 

“You could have told me,” Keith says by way of greeting. 

He watches Shiro smile to the mirror before turning around, utterly beaming when he sees Keith. 

“I know. I’m sorry… I wanted it to be a surprise,” Shiro breathes and Keith’s stomach feels all squirmy just from the sound of Shiro breathless, that deep, masculine voice different from his performance on stage. Shiro slots easily into Keith’s space, hands falling to rest so gently on his waist— like no time’s passed since the last time Shiro got to touch him. 

“I was definitely surprised,” Keith answers, sliding his hands up to cover Shiro’s, to make sure they stay there pressed against his body. He’s not sure why he feels so shy when he asks, “So this is what you meant when you said things have been good lately?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro answers, nodding. “I— you really inspired me, Keith. I realized… I really love doing this. I’m still getting the hang of it, obviously, but—” 

“You were amazing,” Keith interrupts. He squeezes Shiro’s hands. “So good.” 

“I still have a long way to go,” Shiro says, shaking his head, his bouncy white curls framing his face sweetly. “I’m still figuring out who Stella is, I guess. But… I’m really happy.” He squeezes Keith’s waist, his voice dropping low when he adds, “I owe you so much, Keith.” 

“Guess you’ll have to find some way to pay me back,” Keith teases, because flirting is easier than letting himself get emotional over Shiro’s words. It comes out a little more sultry than maybe he meant, but it works better than he expected. 

Shiro’s eyes go dark and promising, his hands flexing against Keith’s little waist. The change is instantaneous and Keith knows Shiro’s riding that high from a performance. 

His voice is so deep when he murmurs, “I had a few thoughts about that…”

“Really?” Keith asks, saccharine sweet. 

“Yeah,” Shiro answers. His eyes are so dark, his tone serious when he says, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

That borders on too earnest, too. Keith’s heart leaps. 

He ducks his head, smiling to himself, suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of Shiro’s words, the dark heat of his eyes. He takes a steadying breath, grasping back at his persona— pulls out of the familiar well of confidence. 

He could let himself get emotional. He could be vulnerable. 

Or he could let himself enjoy the hot guy who’s been _thinking about him._ Keith takes a deep breath and then looks back up at Shiro, batting his lashes. “What about me has got you so hung up, sweetheart?” 

Shiro takes a step back, hands flexing on Keith’s waist and dragging him back with him. “I could show you.” 

“Yeah,” Keith whispers, breathless. “Show me.” 

Just as easily as that day of the competition, Shiro picks Keith up and carries him. The back room of the bar’s near empty now, most of the queens either gone home or out with the crowd. Still, there’s a thrill at being so exposed, even as Shiro carries Keith to a back corner and crowds him up against the wall. 

Keith keens, hooks his hands at the back of Shiro’s neck and drags him in to kiss him, sloppy and desperate. Shiro isn’t the only one who hasn’t been able to stop thinking about their last meeting, after all. He feels pent up, he feels too exposed in this public place, but can’t stop. His hands are on Shiro. Shiro’s hands are on him, holding him up so easily, and all he wants to do is get out of this dress and fuck him. 

Kissing Shiro is just as intoxicating as it was the first time. Keith bites hard at Shiro’s lip and presses to him, whimpering as Shiro responds, sucking on Keith’s tongue. He licks past Keith’s lips, stealing his breath, all tongue and teeth. Keith grips him tight, safe in Shiro’s arms, and bites down hard at Shiro’s mouth, dragging him in closer, nibbling at his lip, sweeping in. 

“Shiro—” Keith whispers into the kiss. 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs back, pulling away and licking his lips. They’re so plump and thick— Keith could spend hours just kissing Shiro and never get tired of it. He squirms in Shiro’s arms. Shiro smiles, breathless, and says, “Baby…” 

It’s different from the way he’s heard so many queens say pet names— here it isn’t cutesy or condescending, it’s worship. Shiro calls Keith ‘baby’ like he was born to say it. Keith lurches forward, licking into Shiro’s mouth, desperate to get closer. 

When Keith draws back for breath, he thumbs at Shiro’s mouth, just for the sake of touching him. Shiro’s breathless, panting little breaths against Keith’s hand, his eyes half-lidded and smoldering, nearly obscured by his lashes. 

“We should probably… not get too carried away,” Keith whispers. 

“Mm.” Shiro’s hardly listening, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted against Keith’s dragging thumb. 

Keith breathes out, shaky and squirmy in Shiro’s arms. “I don’t want to, though.”

“So let’s not,” Shiro murmurs. 

Keith laughs, breathless and graveled out. “Bad girl.” 

Shiro grins at him and Keith is _gone._ Keith pets his face, thumb at his lip, fingers at his jaw. Touching him. He never wants to stop touching him. 

“Don’t stop,” Keith whispers. 

“Okay.” 

Keith hooks his thumb in Shiro’s mouth, just a little, pulling his mouth open just enough to feel his breath. He leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Shiro’s mouth. 

“Can I blow you?” Shiro asks once Keith drops his hand away from his mouth. He licks his lips when Keith keens and says, “I really, really like sucking dick… I’m _really_ good at it. Let me? I’ll make it so good, Keith.” 

“Fuck, Shiro,” Keith whispers, squirming. 

“Let me take care of you, baby,” Shiro whispers and Keith’s a goner. He’s high on feeling Shiro pressed so close to him, high on a strong performance, high on _Shiro’s_ performance. He can only manage a helpless nod, pawing at Shiro like an idiot. 

Shiro sets him down gently, mindful of Keith’s stilettos, and then he’s sinking down to his knees— so similar to when he kneeled on stage, when he reached for Keith, fuck— and reaches for Keith’s dress. 

It’s only then that Shiro seems to remember himself, though. “Oh—” 

He looks up at Keith, big puppy eyes, nothing like the persona he exuded on stage— not smooth and confident, but that familiar sweetness, his smile shy and boyish. 

Keith belatedly realizes Shiro’s hesitancy and laughs, full-bellied, delirious and desiring. He thanks whatever entity that’s out there that he only did a loose tuck tonight. 

“Hold on,” he whispers. He’s had to untuck speedily before— the few times he’s had to suck it up and actually pee during a performance rather than sticking it out— but there’s no real ‘quick’ process to it. 

It’s the least sexy thing in the world to wriggle and grunt his way to his dick. He tugs out his padding and shimmies his many pairs of tights down over his hips before reaching both hands to fiddle around. It’s the unsexiest thing he can imagine, standing there with his dress rucked up and his tights half-down his thighs, hands on his dick and balls and trying to get organized. 

The whole time, though, Shiro sits on his knees and stares up at him like he’s hung the moon, looking expectant and just as desperate as Keith feels. Keith pauses mid dick grab to give him a halting look.

“Don’t just sit there,” he says, “I’m going to want to get at you, too, babe.” 

Shiro blinks and then starts, sitting up on his knees before the words sink in. Obediently, he sets to work to get himself untucked, as well. Keith tries very hard not to get distracted watching the efficient way Shiro grabs at himself. 

After fiddling, Keith manages to get his cock free. Gripped tight in his hand, Keith lets himself watch Shiro, down on his knees, hair in his face as he tugs out some padding from beneath his dress. It’s _not_ sexy but as Keith strokes himself, he feels himself get hard. 

Shiro looks up at him, eyes landing on Keith’s hand around his dick, stroking himself. He freezes, his mouth parting just a little as he takes in the sight of Keith with one hand rucking his dress up, the other stroking his cock to full hardness. 

“Wow,” Shiro whispers, breathless. “Fuck. You’re so hot.” 

Keith bites his lip, fighting back a pleased smile. 

“I knew you’d look so good,” Shiro murmurs. 

“You thought about me?” Keith asks, squeezing his cock hard at the base. 

“All the time,” Shiro answers. 

“Show me,” Keith tells him. “What’d you think about doing to me? Come on, Shiro.” 

Shiro hardly needs the goading, already reaching for Keith. He brushes Keith’s hand aside and curls his hand around Keith’s cock. His fingers are as thick and big as Keith remembers and it’s near blissful to feel them on his cock. He gasps, arching his hips up just a little at the spark of pleasure that pulses through him just from the feeling of that cool, metal hand on his skin. 

Shiro doesn’t even give him the time to adjust to the feeling, though. He wriggles forward on his knees, shoving the hair out of his face so hard that his wig nearly falls off. He licks his lips, already kiss-swollen from Keith’s mouth and smeared lipstick-red from Keith’s tongue. 

“Shiro,” Keith breathes, losing his train of thought just as Shiro opens his mouth and curls his lips around the head of Keith’s cock. He shouts, hips jerking forward. 

And Shiro, beautiful, torturous Shiro, just smiles, his mouth quirking up at one side. Keith stares, panting, as Shiro swallows around Keith’s cockhead and laps gently with his tongue. His lips are red around Keith’s cock, lapping at his skin. Keith feels the desperation mounting inside him, just barely managing to hold back the desire to fuck hard into Shiro’s open mouth, to see how wide his mouth can stretch, just how badly he can smear that lipstick. 

He pants, his fumbling hands reaching out and gripping the back of Shiro’s head, fingers curled into the lush curls of his wig— unable to yank on his hair the way he wants. His eyes stay on Shiro’s mouth, watching his cock disappear into the circle of his lips, the flash of tongue as he drags it along the underside of Keith’s cock. 

And he’s only getting started, it seems. He squeezes Keith at the base and works his way closer, easing Keith’s cock into his mouth with a pleased moan. His eyelids flutter as he adjusts to the drag of Keith over his tongue, the push of his cockhead against the inside of his cheek, bulging it out. Shiro bobs forward, swallowing around him, curling his tongue. Then he tilts back, breathing out over the sopping head, panting. 

He looks up at Keith, grinning triumphantly, and Keith’s traitorous heart twists up in his chest. 

Shiro strokes him, slicking him up with spit and precome, leaning forward to nuzzle against his cock. It smears over his cheek but Shiro seems to delight in the feeling of it, smiling as he drags the cock down to the corner of his mouth. He turns, planting a kiss at the tip of it. 

“Shiro,” Keith gasps out, wordless save for his name. 

“Like that, baby?” Shiro asks, breath hot against the curve of Keith’s cock. He mouths down from tip to base, licking sweetly at the underside and leaning down to mouth at his balls, laving Keith with attention, leaving him weak-kneed and yearning. 

“ _Shiro,_ ” Keith begs as Shiro leans in closer, curling his tongue along the base and working his way back up again, pillowing his lips and flicking his tongue along the ridge of his cock. 

“Go on,” Shiro coaxes him, stroking him again as he presses another kiss to the tip of his cock, eyes flicking up to look at Keith, his eyes so wide and framed in heavy shadow, the contouring on one cheek already smearing, his mouth a mess of red and spit. “You look so good like this, baby,” Shiro says, voice soft with praise enough to make Keith whimper, “Fuck, look at you. You’re so good, Keith. I can’t stop watching you.”

Keith paws at the back of Shiro’s head, trying to drag him in closer without anything real to grip onto. He whimpers, hips stroking forward, seeking Shiro’s mouth. Shiro rewards him with another kiss down the length of his cock, nuzzling his cheek over him and squeezing him at the base. 

“Can’t stop watching you,” Shiro coos, mouthing at the underside of his cock, sweeping his tongue back up to suck his cockhead into his mouth, pausing in his words to swirl his tongue around him, to swallow him into the hollow of his cheek. He pulls back with a soft breath just as Keith starts moaning. “You’re amazing, Keith. That butterfly transformation you did on the show? I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re so creative. You’re so _good_. Who can take their eyes off you?” 

Keith can’t help the pleased sob that rips from his throat, shivering all over. He knows exactly what Shiro means— he’d walked down the runway in a cocoon only to flash open at the end, revealing a wide several-foot wingspan of homemade, unfurling wings of flourishing designs. Keith’s always loved the creative aspects of drag, always loved being able to show off that innovation— and it makes him feel weak-kneed to have Shiro praise it now. He’s overwhelmed— unable to handle Shiro’s words and Shiro’s touch together. 

“Guess that’s why I won,” Keith pants out.

Shiro grins up at him, stroking him off. “Oh yeah?” 

“Don’t tell anyone,” Keith adds, tipping his chin down to watch him. 

“I knew it,” Shiro whispers, and Keith feels his heart leap over how _unsurprised_ Shiro sounds at Keith’s reveal. Of course. Shiro always believed Keith won. 

Keith jerks his hips up, head thumping back against the wall as he arches. Shiro hums, approvingly. 

“That’s right. Fuck me like you want to, Keith. Let me make you feel good, baby.” 

Keith claws at the back of Shiro’s head, dragging him in closer. Shiro laughs and opens his mouth to him, lets Keith stroke into his mouth. Keith fucks into that willing mouth, feels the drag of his lips, the suction of his lips around him, smearing red lipstick down the length of his cock. 

Shiro groans, letting out a guttural choke as Keith strokes in too deep, too quickly. Keith nearly backs off, nearly apologizes, but it seems to only goad Shiro forward. He slinks on his knees closer towards Keith, cupping his hips and coaxing him forward, to fuck harder into his mouth. He feels Shiro relax his mouth, panting through his nose as he inches himself down further on Keith’s cock. 

Shiro gives a pleased whimper, moaning around Keith’s cock, and presses closer. He’s nearly swallowed the entirety of Keith’s cock, and Keith’s so on edge, so ready to come just from the feeling of Shiro’s slick mouth. He moans back, loud— too loud, maybe, considering where they are— and rocks his hips forward, fucking into Shiro. Shiro looks delighted when he chokes again, breathing out harsh through his nose and squirming closer, bobbing his head forward to swallow Keith. 

“Fuck— _fuck,_ look at _you_ ,” Keith hisses out, the words tumbling out of him. He feels Shiro preen at the words, watches his eyes flick up to look at Keith. Keith drags his fingers forward, tracing over Shiro’s jaw and cheeks, feels the bulge of his cock against his cheek when he rocks back out only to thrust back in. 

He fucks in harder, enough to make Shiro choke, and tears prick the corners of his eyes. Keith cups Shiro’s face, wiping his thumbs under his eyes. His eyeliner smears with it, Keith’s sweeping thumb strokes winging it outward. Shiro looks utterly debauched and Keith loves it— _Keith’s_ the reason for it. Shiro keens at him and Keith feels it vibrate up his dick and pool in his gut. He jerks forward, fucking into Shiro’s pretty pink mouth. 

“You’re beautiful,” Keith gushes and Shiro groans. It vibrates up Keith’s dick and nearly sends him spiraling. 

Shiro squirms closer, clutching at him, bobbing down against his cock. He swallows around him and it’s so much. 

“Gonna come,” Keith grunts, biting his lip, watching the way Shiro closes his eyes and moans around his cock, squirms closer, tries to swallow him down. “Can I— should I—” 

He starts to tip back but Shiro grips his hips hard and slams down hard on his cock, swallowing around him and sliding his tongue over him. That’s answer enough and, wordlessly, Keith fucks into Shiro’s mouth in shallow thrusts, gasping as he moves. 

Keith comes with a soft cry of Shiro’s name, thrusting. Shiro drinks him down, holding him steady and working his throat around him. He bobs forward, works Keith down closer to him. His nose brushes Keith’s stomach as he takes him all, drinks him down, milks him dry, and it’s only because Shiro’s effectively pinning him to the wall that Keith doesn’t just fuck blindly into Shiro’s mouth. 

He’s still panting even once Shiro eases off him, Shiro’s eyes glittering with pride as he shifts on his knees. His mouth is shiny with spit and come and he wipes at it absently, smearing his make up further. He’s never looked hotter, Keith thinks. 

And then Shiro rises to his feet and crowds up against Keith, cupping his face and kissing him. Keith groans, licking into Shiro’s mouth just to taste himself, to feel the swell of Shiro’s tongue tracing his lips and deepening their kiss. He’s addicted to the taste of him, the feel of him. He’s melting. 

Keith’s brain is melted, at the very least, but that doesn’t stop him from dragging his hands down Shiro’s body, squeezing his ass and then pawing between his legs. “You,” Keith grunts. “Shiro…” 

So maybe he hasn’t quite gotten his words back yet. But Shiro chuckles, breathless, and eases his dress up so Keith can get his hand on him. He’s seen Shiro’s dick print and helped him tuck back during the show, but it’s an entirely different experience to get his hand on his hard cock. 

Keith might actually gasp. It might be embarrassing later when he has a brain to care about such things. He breaks the kiss to stare down between their bodies, nearly headbutting Shiro in the process. 

Shiro’s dick is huge. Keith already knew this, logically, but now he’s holding the evidence in his hand, his fingers curled around the wide girth of it. Keith’s sure he must look stupid, totally bug-eyed. 

“Fuck,” Keith says. 

“Thank you,” Shiro whispers, sounding both smug and shy at the same time— a real accomplishment— nosing at Keith’s cheek, his mouth ghosting over his jaw. He rocks his hips up, tentatively, pushing his cock into the circle of Keith’s hand. 

Encouraged by the response, Keith strokes down the full length of Shiro’s cock. Shiro moans loud in Keith’s ear, biting at Keith’s jaw. It makes Keith shiver and he moans back, quietly, hooking his leg around Shiro’s hips and dragging him in closer. He strokes him off, twisting his hand and squeezing at his cockhead on the upswing. 

It’s another thing entirely to see Shiro come undone because of Keith. He looks debauched from Keith fucking his mouth, but as Keith strokes him and Shiro squirms, panting, pressing his forehead to Keith’s, Keith gets to watch every little twist and change to his face. 

“Tell me what you want,” Keith says, biting at Shiro’s bottom lip as he squeezes hard at his cock, dragging him in closer so Shiro will thrust his hips up against Keith’s stomach. Shiro does, seeking that friction, rutting against the silky sheen of Keith’s dress, pressed there by the flat of Keith’s palm. 

“You,” Shiro pants, because of course he does. Keith has to kiss him for that, licking into his mouth and whispering his name, pressing his palm over his cock and stroking down as Shiro rocks up against his stomach. 

“Know what I want?” Keith mouths against Shiro’s lips, rolling his body against his cock. Shiro makes a whimpering sound, inquisitive and distracted. Keith presses sloppy kisses up the length of Shiro’s jaw, nibbling at his earlobe and whispering, “Want you to fuck me. Been thinking about it since I first saw you.”

It’s worth it for Shiro’s pleased gasp and the jerk of his hips. He grips Keith tight, grinding down against him. Keith whimpers into Shiro’s ear, pressing closer against him. 

He squirms against Shiro, twisting around, unsubtly shoving his ass up against Shiro’s dick. He presses his hands against the wall and arches his back, looking at Shiro over his shoulder. Shiro groans, gripping Keith’s hips tight and grinding up against him. 

Keith whimpers, grabbing at his many layers of tights and forcing it down further so Shiro’s cock can tuck up into the cleft of his ass. He obviously didn’t think to grab lube for this performance— a rookie mistake3— and he has no patience to send Shiro off to find it, so he lets Shiro rock against him instead, cock sliding against his ass without penetrating. It’s not nearly enough, although the feeling of Shiro draped over his body is intoxicating. 

Keith moans, ducking his head and arching his back. Shiro grips his hip still but his other hand comes up, dragging up the flat of Keith’s stomach and holding him still as he fucks against him. 

“Shiro,” Keith moans as Shiro nuzzles against his neck, nosing Keith’s wig out of the way enough to press a kiss against his neck and lick up the column of it, mouthing at the line of his jaw. Keith squirms, keening when he feels Shiro’s cock twitch between his cheeks. “Fuck me— fuck me, please—” 

He spreads his legs, arching his back, anything to feel the delicious, thick drag of Shiro’s cock. Shiro pants out Keith’s name, lips wet and warm against his neck as he thrusts up against him, seeking that friction. 

“Fuck, baby, _fuck_ ,” Shiro moans, “You’re so beautiful—” 

Keith moans, and nearly loses his balance when, suddenly, Shiro’s hands grip his thighs, shoving them together. He wobbles on his stilettos, but Shiro’s there to steady him, holding him still as he nudges his cock into the space between Keith’s thighs. He holds Keith’s legs together, creating that friction as he fucks between his thighs, sliding against the silky fabric of his tights. Keith tips his head down, watching the head of Shiro’s cock peek out between his clenched thighs, huge and slick between black tights. Keith trembles, overwhelmed.

Shiro nudges his nose against the shell of Keith’s ear, panting his name, breathless, then whispers, “Just imagine what it’ll feel like when I really fuck you, baby. Just be patient. I’ll get you next time.” 

It lances through Keith and he can’t help the sharp cry it pulls from him as Shiro starts fucking Keith’s thighs in earnest. He makes sure it’s good for Shiro— squirms where he stands to tighten his legs together, to keep that friction. He feels Shiro shudder against him as he thrusts.

Keith thinks of the obscene flex of Shiro’s thighs as he strutted across the stage in that little dress. He imagines turning around and shoving Shiro against the wall instead, fucking between his legs, feeling that blissful tension. Next time. Next time—

Shiro fists around Keith’s half-hard cock and Keith gives a sharp cry of surprise, thrusting into his hand as Shiro fucks against him. He times his thrusts to meet the curve of his hand and soon Keith’s hard again, writhing in Shiro’s arms. 

Keith keeps getting louder, knows it’s too loud for where they are. Shiro must think so, too, because his fingers bump up against Keith’s mouth and press inside. Keith whimpers, sucking hard like they’re Shiro’s cock, curls his tongue and bobs his head forward, keening. Shiro groans his appreciation, fucking harder against Keith. 

Keith can feel that Shiro’s getting closer, can tell from the flex of his hips, the hurried frenzy to his thrusts. Keith welcomes it, panting out Shiro’s name, rocking his hips back to meet him, tightening his thighs around the obscene slide of Shiro’s cock. He imagines what it’ll feel like, pushing inside of Keith’s body. 

Shiro comes against him with a low groan, his hand dropping off Keith’s cock to cup around his own, catching his come before it splatters against the wall instead. His hand comes away slick, sheened with his come. Keith wants to pop the fingers out of his mouth and replace them with these, but he doesn’t get the chance. Shiro lifts his hand and fists around Keith’s cock, slick and warm as he strokes Keith off and makes him come a second time. 

Keith slumps in Shiro’s arms, panting, mouthing absently at Shiro’s fingers until Shiro draws them from his mouth and drops his arm to curl around his waist instead. They stay like that for a beat, just trying to catch their breaths, slumped up against the wall. 

Breathing out, Keith drops his hand to take up Shiro’s hand, slick with their come, and mouths at his fingertips. Shiro groans weakly in his ear, nuzzling against his neck, but doesn’t move until Keith’s cleaned him off. He presses a sloppy kiss against Shiro’s palm. 

Slowly, he twists around, feeling jelly-legged and fucked-out. He sighs, leaning back against the wall. Shiro’s hands settle at his waist again, just holding him steady. 

Shiro gives him that familiar moony smile again and Keith feels warmed all over when he smiles back, laughing. 

Shiro’s face is a mess and, Keith thinks with pride, it’s his fault. He’s smeared and looks just as fucked-out as Keith. He watches Shiro study Keith’s face and thinks he must look similarly wrecked. He tips his chin up and makes a soft sound until Shiro takes the hint and leans down, kissing him. 

It’s slower now, less frenzied, but Keith still feels breathless. He hums sweetly, hooking his arms around Shiro’s neck and tugging him in closer, swapping lazy kisses between breaths. 

“That was nice,” Keith breathes and Shiro giggles, nosing at his jaw. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. He pauses, then murmurs, “So…”

“Mm?”

Shiro presses another kiss to Keith’s lips, lingering and sweet. “I live nearby. If you… wanted to stay.” His voice is rumbly and rich in his chest, pressed up against Keith. “We could get breakfast in the morning?” 

Keith hums, kissing Shiro absently. He indulges in the thought of it— of stumbling back to Shiro’s apartment, of fucking in his hallway, fucking their way to the bed, spending the entire night wrapped up in each other’s arms. Imagine waking in the morning, cleaning up and dressing down, going to breakfast. Imagines emerging, clean from the shower and—

And Shiro seeing Keith. Not Thunderstorm Darkness, just Keith. 

Shiro’s never seen Keith out of drag.

Keith freezes up in Shiro’s arms, suddenly tense and rigid. The change is immediate— any softness and relaxation in his limbs is gone, sharp as a lightning strike. Shiro makes a small sound, inquisitive, drawing away to make sure Keith’s okay. 

“I, um, I can’t,” Keith says, hurriedly. “I have to feed my dog.” 

“Oh,” Shiro says, perking up a bit. “You have a dog? I love dogs.” 

“Mm,” Keith says, absently, squirming out of Shiro’s arms so he can fix himself instead of standing around with his dick hanging out. He tugs his tights back up again, not bothering to tuck again. He smooths out his dress over his hips and kneels, picking up his discarded padding. 

He trails around the room, heading back towards the mirror he’d set up in earlier, fetching his supply bag out from under the table, shoving his things into it. Shiro trails after him like a lost puppy, the confusion plain on his face. 

“We could do breakfast tomorrow, anyway? After you feed your dog,” Shiro offers, and he sounds so hopeful, so lovestruck. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Keith answers, feeling terrible. 

Keith zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He turns back towards Shiro. 

Shiro seems to have gotten the hint from Keith’s tone. Impossible not to, probably. He looks less hopeful now and more cautious, shifting from foot to foot, frowning. Keith’s heart twists up in his chest and he steps to him, lifting his hand to ghost his thumb along his cheek.

“I’ll call you,” he offers, feeling wretched. He tips up and presses a quick peck to Shiro’s lips before turning.

“Okay,” Shiro says from behind him. Keith makes a hasty exit. 

-

The next day, Keith does not call Shiro and he feels like an absolute dick about it. 

He thumbs open his text messages, nearly types out a text to Shiro, only to delete it and toss his phone aside. 

_Keith_ is entirely different from Thunderstorm Darkness. He knows it’s going to be a step-down, especially after some fantastic sex. Keith’s never fucked anyone in drag before. There’s a strange power to it, something wonderful in opening his eyes and seeing Shiro on his knees like that, debauched and feminine, beautiful and feral, looking up at Keith like Keith is everything. 

He can’t stop thinking about it— the way Shiro looked at him, eyes dark and heated with desire, his mouth curled around Keith’s cock. The power and weight of his body pressed up against Keith’s back as he fucked his thighs. The smear of his lipstick across his cheek, his eyes smoldering and dark. 

Coming home to see his face completely busted, but Shiro’s kiss-mark still beautifully pressed to his cheek. 

Keith stares up at his ceiling, phone resting unused in his hand. 

Keith’s said this to himself too many times to count: Thunderstorm Darkness is confident, cool, and sexy. She’s desirable. She doesn’t take any shit and knows what she wants. Keith loves being her, loves slipping into that persona. She feels like an extension of himself. Where Keith is dull and a little moody, Thunderstorm Darkness can take that moodiness and make it mysterious. She’s never boring. She’s always thrilling, always keeping people guessing. She’s innovative and creative, flawless and timeless. She can be anything she wants to be, constantly transforming— like the butterfly performance Shiro loved so much.

Keith is just… Keith.

And that’s always been the heart of it. He can call Thunderstorm Darkness all these things, feel all these things when he’s her, but at the end of the day he can’t see it in himself. 

Keith rolls onto his side, clenching his eyes shut and forcing out a breath. 

He curls into himself and sighs again, opening up his messages and staring at Shiro’s name and the two emoji next to it. He startles when, staring forlornly at Shiro’s last text (“See you soon! Can’t wait!”), the familiar “…” of Shiro typing flits across the bottom of the screen. 

Keith stares at those three dots for far too long. Eventually, they disappear, and no new message comes. A minute later, the dots appear again. 

**Shiro, sent 10:13am:** I think you took my ass. 

Out of the messages Shiro could have sent him, this is not what he was expecting. Keith stares at it for a long moment.

**Keith, sent 10:14am:** ??? 

**Shiro, sent 10:14am:** the padding. I think you took mine.

Keith breathes out through his nose, casting a glance towards his bag. He hasn’t opened it and looked inside, stripping down and decompressing last night for only a few minutes before collapsing into his bad, cuddling up to Kosmo for the whole evening. Kosmo, having no idea he’d been used as a flimsy excuse to run away, had kindly accepted those cuddles. 

**Shiro, sent 10:15am:** it’s fine, I know they’re easy enough to make  
**Shiro, sent 10:15am:** nevermind 

Keith can’t help the small, mournful noise that punches out of him, reading this. He doesn’t even realize he’s hitting the call button until the phone’s pressed to his ear, ringing.

Shiro picks up. “Hey, Keith.” 

He sounds sleepy, tired— or maybe just sad. Keith bites his lip, feeling uncertain. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I got totally weird last night.” 

“It’s okay,” Shiro answers, immediately, and Keith’s grateful that Shiro doesn’t pretend he _didn’t_ get totally weird. He sounds resigned, though, and that’s so much worse. “I know I… I mean, I’m sorry. I know I came on too strong.” 

“You didn’t—” Keith protests.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you so far,” Shiro continues, voice quiet. “I just… I really do like you, Keith.” 

Keith makes another sound, lodged in his throat. His chest feels tight. Sensing his distress, Kosmo pads over to him, nosing at his wrist. Keith curls a steadying hand into Kosmo’s fur, holding tight. 

“I really like you, too,” Keith insists. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I swear, Shiro.” 

“You’re just… You’re so cool and confident. You could have anyone you want and—” 

“What—” 

“— I know I can be kind of…” Shiro trails off, not elaborating, or whatever disparaging thing he’s likely thinking. 

“What? Kind of what? Sweet?” Keith presses, frustrated on Shiro’s behalf. “Kind? Hot as fuck?” Shiro makes a low choking sound but Keith presses onward. “You’re a really… you’re such a good guy, Shiro. You did nothing wrong.” 

“Okay,” Shiro answers, but doesn’t sound convinced. Keith can just picture the way he’s likely frowning, eyes sad. 

Keith can accept that he’s a dumpy, frumpy idiot. But he can’t accept the idea of Shiro thinking he’s done something wrong. 

Keith bites the inside of his cheek, debating. He glances down at Kosmo, who stares up at him with the unjudgmental eyes of a perfect, precious puppy. Keith pets him one last time before sitting up. 

“I’m going to bring you back your ass,” Keith declares, not caring how ridiculous that statement is. “Text me your address.” 

“It’s okay,” Shiro insists. “I can just make a new one. It’s fine, Keith.” 

Keith pauses mid-way through shoving on his shoes, frowning. He hesitates, biting his lip. “… Shiro, I—” He tightens his hold on his phone, swallowing. “I want to see you.” 

Shiro’s quiet for a moment, quiet enough that Keith’s heart starts racing in his chest, preparing for some sort of rejection. 

“I want to see you, too,” Shiro finally offers. 

“Is now an okay time? I mean…” Keith hesitates, then remembers his own advice: confidence, babe. He breathes out. “If you still want, we could go get breakfast? Or coffee. Or… or something.” 

Shiro breathes out, something like a sigh. “Yeah… Yeah, okay, Keith.” 

“Really?” Keith asks, heart still speeding in his chest. 

“Yeah,” Shiro answers, more confidently this time. “I— I meant what I said last night, Keith. I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

Keith’s hand’s on the door handle leading out of his apartment. He pauses, staring at himself in the mirror hanging in the front hall, studying his reflection. He looks tired, his hair all mushed up on one side after falling asleep with it wet. He looks unremarkable, unmemorable. 

“Shiro…” Keith says, quietly, staring at his reflection. “I… Drag’s one thing, you know? It’s really— over the top and dramatic. Bright colors. That kind of thing.” 

“Uh… yeah?” Shiro prompts, obviously confused.

Keith swallows down the thick lump in his throat. “I’m… You know. Not usually like that.” 

“Okay?” Shiro answers. 

“I just wanted to warn you…” 

Shiro huffs a breath on the other end of the line. There’s something warm in his tone, though, when he answers next. “Keith,” he says, gently. “I’ll text my address, okay? Just get here.” 

“Okay,” Keith whispers. 

-

Standing outside Shiro’s door fifteen minutes later, Keith wishes he’d taken the time to maybe doll himself up a bit. At least brush his hair. Wear a shirt that isn’t his frayed old red hoodie. He feels oddly naked, standing there in sneakers rather than heels. He didn’t even put on eyeliner. 

Keith takes one last steadying breath and then knocks on the door. He doesn’t have to wait long before Shiro’s opening it. 

Keith wants to think that he’s starting to get used to Shiro’s causally devastating handsomeness, but he’s really not. Shiro’s wearing joggers and a sinfully tight tee, casual and sleepy. Keith’s first unnecessary thought is, _holy shit._ His second, equally as unhelpful is, _dick print._

Shiro looks much the same as he did that day on the show. His undercut’s grown out a bit, but still has that attractive fade. There’s still a streak of glitter he missed when showering, though, clinging aggressively to the shape of his jaw. 

Fuck, he’s so hot. 

“Hi,” Keith says. He feels some of the tension ease out of him when Shiro smiles. Keith smiles back, helplessly. 

“Hey, Storm,” Shiro says. Stripped of his persona, Keith can’t help but shiver at the nickname, warmth zipping down his spine. 

Shiro’s quiet for a moment, just studying Keith. Keith sucks in a deep breath, trying to be brave, trying not to overthink what Shiro must see. 

“… Not too disappointed, I hope,” Keith jokes, but it sounds hollow to his own ears.

It must sound so to Shiro, too, because his eyes snap up, widening as he looks at Keith. “I think you’re beautiful,” Shiro says, earnestly. “I’ve always thought that.” 

Keith blushes— and this time, he has no makeup to hide that fact. He looks down at his feet, biting back his smile. 

He senses Shiro moving closer. A moment later, his big hands come up to rest tentatively on Keith’s waist. Keith breathes out and, hesitantly, lifts his head to look at Shiro. 

Shiro looks confused, still, his eyebrows pinching together. “What you said on the phone,” Shiro says. “Is that why you freaked out last night? Because I’d see you like this?” 

When he puts it that way, it sounds absurd. Keith makes a soft, stupid sound and looks away. One of Shiro’s hands lifts from his waist and cups his cheek, guiding him back to look at him. 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs, voice so quiet and so sweet. 

Blushing, Keith shuts his eyes, pressing his cheek down against Shiro’s hand. “I know. You don’t have to say it.” 

Tentatively, he lifts his hand to curl around Shiro’s wrist, just holding his hand there against his cheek. After a moment, Shiro’s thumb swipes a slow arc against Keith’s cheek. Keith’s definitely blushing now. 

Shiro smiles at him, tentative and kind. “What should I say instead, then? That I think you’re amazing, maybe?” 

“Ugh,” Keith protests, blushing. 

“Keith,” Shiro gently insists. “I promise that I’m not interested in dating Thunderstorm Darkness.” 

Keith squints at Shiro who keeps smiling at him. “You better not be insulting my girl.” 

“Never,” Shiro promises. He takes a step back, tugging Keith closer by his waist. “Come inside? I made coffee.” 

“Okay,” Keith whispers and lets Shiro tug him inside. The door shuts behind him and only then does Keith remember the bag slung over his shoulder. “Oh, I have your—” 

“Just leave it there,” Shiro says, gesturing next to a shoe rack. Keith sets it down and lets Shiro takes his hand, leading him through his modest apartment. 

Keith isn’t sure what he expected out of Shiro’s apartment, but it suits him. There are pictures of Shiro with what Keith assumes is his family on the walls, a comfy looking couch next to a television, a relatively clean kitchen. Shiro’s wig from last night is flopped on the coffee table in front of the couch and Keith mentally reminds himself to instruct Shiro on proper wig-care later. Provided there is a later. 

Keith leans up against the countertop, watching Shiro tug down two mugs from his cabinet and pour the coffee. One of the mugs has little painted cats prancing along the rim and the other has a rainbow printed _fabulous!_ on it. 

“How do you take yours?” Shiro asks. 

“Just black,” Keith answers, crossing his arms and holding back a smile when he sees Shiro wrinkle his nose in disgust. 

The joke’s on Keith, though. He watches the amount of sugar Shiro adds and wrinkles his nose in turn. He accepts the cat coffee cup, though, taking a grateful sip of the brew. 

He studies Shiro over the rim of the cup, watching Shiro’s casual lean against the counter, his own light sip. The silence isn’t awkward, necessarily, but it isn’t necessarily comfortable, either. 

Keith decides to just dive in. “What did you mean, that you’re not interested in dating Thunderstorm Darkness?” 

Shiro gives him a perplexed look, takes a gulp of his coffee, and sets the cup down. “I want to date _you_ , Keith.” 

“Oh.” 

Keith mulls that over, staring into his coffee cup. Shiro laughs, a little disbelievingly. “Keith…”

“Sorry, just…” Keith waves his hand. “She’s a more exciting version of me, you know?” 

Shiro makes a soft, humming sound. He tilts his head, studying Keith. “I like you, Keith,” he says, almost casually if not for the deep drag of his voice, shivering its way up Keith’s spine. “That means her, too— but not just her.” He shrugs at Keith’s startled look. “I’ve been watching the show, you know? Thunderstorm Darkness is really cool, but she never smiles. She’s focused on winning. She’s a performer. And that’s all fine, too… but the Storm I met…” He approaches Keith now, not crowding into Keith’s space, but hovering just outside his orbit, “The Storm I met made me feel alive. I couldn’t stop smiling around her and she was always smiling back. She made me feel like I belonged.” 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers.

Shiro smiles back. “Storm’s a lot of things, but see… Keith, I think that’s you, too. _You’re_ so cool, so fun, so sweet… You’re so, so beautiful. Did you really think you’d show up here and I’d change my mind?” 

“Maybe,” Keith mutters. 

He’s only ever gotten compliments as Thunderstorm Darkness. He loves being her. But regular Keith— he struggles to maintain friends. He’s too standoffish. He’s too strange, alienated. 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs. “You weren’t in character the whole time we’ve spent together.” He gives him that same, sweet moony smile, the same one that makes Keith’s heart race. “It’s you I can’t stop thinking about, you know.” 

Keith’s not ashamed of the fact that he practically launches himself at Shiro at that. He cups Shiro’s face, fingers sliding against that streak of glitter, and yanks him down. Despite the heat of his movements, when he kisses Shiro, it’s sweeter than that, bubbly and tentative. 

Shiro’s hands slot over Keith’s hips and hold him close, kissing him back. 

“I like you, too,” Keith gasps out when he pulls back from Shiro’s seeking mouth. It’s worth it to see Shiro’s smile, delighted and tender. Shiro swoops in, kissing him again. Keith sighs against his mouth, fiddling with Shiro’s shirt hem. “I really wanted to go to breakfast with you.” 

Shiro pulls back enough to glance at the clock on the microwave. “Well, it’s still brunching hour. We could…”

Keith shakes his head, wriggling his fingers up under Shiro’s shirt to trace at his abs. “Take me to breakfast tomorrow morning.” 

Shiro’s mouth quirks up, helplessly. He presses against Keith’s hand, eyes darkening. “What about your dog?” 

“Mom’ll feed him,” Keith dismisses. “I’ll text her later.” He leans up closer to Shiro, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and then the sweeping line of his jaw. Pressing his mouth against his ear, he whispers, “Take me to the bedroom, Shiro.” 

Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice. Keith delights in the feeling of Shiro picking him up once more— addicted to that feeling, really, the swoop of his stomach, feeling so light in Shiro’s arms. Shiro carries him down the hallway towards his bedroom, kissing Keith’s neck. This time, Keith luxuriates in the decadence of sliding his fingers through Shiro’s hair and tugging, even if most of his hair is too short to get a full grip. 

He sets Keith down on the bed and crawls up after him. Keith only has half a moment to sweep his eyes over Shiro’s room— neutral colors, clothes thrown over the chair in the corner, doorway leading to a bathroom— before Shiro leans in again and kisses him. 

“By the way,” Keith mutters between kisses. 

“Mm?” 

“You really,” Keith sighs out as Shiro bites his lip, “need to take better care of your wigs.” 

Shiro pulls back, huffing out. His pupils are blown wide, his mouth quirked into a kissable smile. Keith flashes back to the night before, when Shiro’s makeup was smeared all down his face, eyelashes thick and lips a pouty red. It’s a different experience entirely to see Shiro’s blushing cheeks, his sweet smile making his eyes crinkle up. 

“Noted,” Shiro says, kissing the corner of Keith’s mouth. “Stella will disown me.” 

“I’m sure,” Keith sighs, tugging Shiro’s shirt off until he gets the hint and pulls back enough for Keith to yank it off over his head. He runs his fingertips reverently down his chest. “If ‘Stella’ doesn’t work out, there are other options.” 

“Oh yeah?” Shiro asks, pressing closer. 

Keith teases at Shiro’s stomach, feeling the heave of his breath, and then lower, cupping him through his joggers just to hear Shiro’s breath hitch. “You could always be Anna Conda.” 

Shiro snorts and ducks his head, ears turning pink as he laughs. “ _Keith._ ” 

“What?” Keith asks, innocently. He massages his hand over the swelling bulge in Shiro’s joggers. “You have a big dick, Shiro. You should celebrate it.” 

“I’d rather celebrate you,” Shiro quips back, but he sounds breathless, reverential as he sits back, fingers tugging on the zipper of Keith’s hoodie and coaxing it down. “Come on, baby. Let me see you.”

The way he says that name again— like he’s worshipping, like it’s a promise. Keith shivers and sits up on his elbows, squirming out of his hoodie and letting Shiro tug off his dingy shirt underneath. 

He sprawls back on Shiro’s bed, letting Shiro drag his eyes over him. He can’t squirm away, his legs bracketed by Shiro’s thick thighs as he straddles him. His big palm drags down Keith’s chest, just feeling him. 

“This okay?” Shiro asks. “We can go slow, if you want.” 

“I don’t want.” Keith arches his hips up, hooking his fingers in his pants and wriggling out of them— might as well get the whole naked thing over with. “Fuck me, Shiro.” 

Shiro’s only half-listening, clearly staring at Keith again. Keith feels less self-conscious about Shiro’s eyes on his dick— at least he’s seen that much already— but he feels exposed beneath Shiro, totally naked. Raw and vulnerable in a way he hasn’t let himself be in a long time. He sucks in a deep breath, heart pounding. 

He looks up at Shiro, watching the way Shiro watches him. He looks so sweet in the late morning light, his hair falling across his forehead, his smile warm and just for Keith. It’s almost too much, almost too overwhelming. The way Shiro looks at him borders on too much— like he can’t believe Keith’s here, like Keith is somehow this special. 

Keith thinks that there’s no way Shiro can know what he means to Keith, too. Keith’s never felt so seen, understood instinctively. Shiro’s hands on him are gentle. Shiro looks at him and sees someone beautiful. 

Keith can be beautiful for Shiro. He hooks his leg around Shiro’s waist and flips them, sending Shiro toppling onto his back with a surprised _oof._ He blinks up at Keith and then grins, looking delighted. 

“Well, hi there,” Shiro says. 

Keith smiles back, grabbing Shiro’s joggers and stripping them, and Shiro’s underwear, off in one fell swoop, sending them flying from the bed. He lets his eyes drag down over Shiro’s body, appreciatively. 

“Ah,” Keith says, smirking, eyes on Shiro’s hard cock. “There’s Anna Conda now.” 

Shiro barks a shocked laugh and reaches for Keith, dragging him down and kissing him, sloppy and sweet. He licks into Keith’s mouth and Keith groans. 

Keith rolls himself up easily onto Shiro’s hips, arching his body. He knows he looks good like this, knows the light hits him well, knows the way his hair frames his face, sensual and secretive. He breaks the kiss to pull his body into an elegant bow, straddling Shiro. 

Shiro looks up at him, eyes dark, his cock pressed against Keith’s. Keith shivers, planting his hands on Shiro’s chest and arching his back. He smiles down at him, letting his hair fall in his eyes, something sensual and mysterious. 

“Hey,” Shiro whispers, cupping Keith’s face. “Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to— this isn’t a performance, Keith.” 

The way he says his name. Keith shivers, lips parting a little at the words. He freezes, unsure what to do next. He feels utterly exposed, feels seen in a way he never has before. 

He loves performing. He loves being Thunderstorm Darkness. But most days, really, it’s hard to be Keith. He knows Keith is boring in comparison, not nearly as charming. 

But it’s true that’s what he’s doing— shaping his body in the way he thinks Shiro will like best. Shiro’s hand is gentle on Keith’s cheek, thumb sweeping along his cheekbone. 

Shiro smiles up at him, sweet and earnest, his big hands touching him like he’s precious. 

Helplessly, Keith drops down to kiss Shiro again. It’s sweet, slow at first, but heavy— desperate in its own way, seeking Shiro’s smile, the taste of his tongue, the hush of his breath against Keith’s teeth. 

When Keith pulls back, panting, he presses his forehead against Shiro’s, peering into his eyes. Shiro smiles back, eyes so soft and so gentle. 

“I’m so glad I met you,” Shiro whispers. 

Keith shivers, closing his eyes against the helpless swell of affection in his chest. If he does something sappy like rub his nose against Shiro’s, that’s just as well— Shiro just radiates happiness, his arms wrapped loosely around Keith’s body. 

He wants to know everything about Shiro. He wants to know every little thing that makes him smile, makes him laugh. He wants to know Shiro’s body as intimately as Keith knows his own. 

Shiro sighs, content and sweet. “Wow… How does it feel to be so handsome?” 

It’s absurd and Keith knows his giggle is anything but sexy, but maybe that doesn’t matter, either. 

“You tell me,” Keith whispers, nothing witty to say to the words, his voice tinged with obvious affection. 

It’s worth it, to see the way Shiro’s smile blooms across his face. He rolls Keith smoothly onto his back again, pressing a kiss against his chest. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Shiro says, worshipful. When he says it like that, it doesn’t sound like a compliment just for the sake of it. Keith believes it, when Shiro says it like that. He shudders beneath him, Shiro’s hands running down Keith’s body, over his hips, his thighs. “Here…” Shiro says, squirming up and reaching for his bedside table. He fishes around and tugs out a bottle of lube, pressing it into Keith’s hand. “Hold that for me, baby.” 

He hooks his hands under Keith’s knees and lifts his legs up, scooting so he’s between Keith’s thighs. Keith makes a startled sound. 

“What are you doing?” Keith asks, voice hopeful and expectant. 

Shiro grins at him, kissing his knee. “I’m going to take care of you.” His voice drops lower, deep and promising. “Gonna make you scream my name, beautiful.” 

Then Shiro ducks down and presses his mouth up against Keith’s hole. 

A moan startles out of Keith and it’s anything but performance, a guttural and natural sound ripped involuntarily from him. 

He turns bright red. 

Shiro’s smile is so wide and so sweet, though, his eyes glittering in the light. And then he does it again. 

Keith lets out a muffled shout of surprise, spreading his legs as Shiro presses closer, swiping his tongue over the length of him and lapping at him. Keith moans, legs flexing before Shiro drapes them over his knees, his hands reaching to cup Keith’s ass and hoist him up for a better angle. 

He licks into Keith, kissing and sucking at Keith’s hole. Keith shudders, his cock already hard against his stomach just from this simple attention. Shiro drags his tongue along his rim, pressing close enough to tease at him, lapping with an attention that borders on too intense. 

Keith does not mewl, because he is above that, but it’s a near thing. He grips the lube bottle tight, warming it in his hand. He arches off the bed, body bowing against Shiro’s attention. 

“Fuck, Shiro!” he groans. 

He can practically feel Shiro’s smug smile against his rim before he starts squirming his tongue inside him, licking against his hole, making him sopping. He licks and sucks at him, rendering Keith speechless. He lifts off the bed, arching, gasping up at the ceiling. His hands claw at the back of Shiro’s head, seeking purchase through his hair, dragging him in closer.

Shiro groans appreciatively, happily squirming closer. Keith watches him rock against the bed, realizes he’s rutting against the mattress, seeking friction for his cock. That makes Keith go breathless, panting Shiro’s name and rocking his hips down against his tongue, fucking against his mouth. 

By the time Shiro reaches up for Keith’s hand, fishing the bottle of lube from Keith’s clenched fist, Keith’s already close to the edge, brought there just from the whisper of Shiro’s breath, his tongue stroking over his rim. 

“Shiro,” he moans, weakly, hips jerking up in little bursts. 

Shiro presses a sloppy kiss against his inner thigh, his eyes soft as he looks up at him. “I’ve got you, baby.” 

He works open the cap to the lube, slicking up his fingers. Keith shudders just thinking about those fingers squirming up inside him, to feel them stretch him open, to feel them squirmed in there along with Shiro’s cock. He whimpers as Shiro licks against his rim one last time and then strokes one finger along the edge of him. 

Keith’s so wet, so relaxed, that all he can do is part his legs. Shiro sucks at his rim and squirms two fingers inside him easily, pulling him open. Keith tips his head back and moans Shiro’s name to the ceiling, legs shivering against Shiro’s shoulders. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” Shiro asks, breath warm against his skin. Keith whimpers and nods. He kisses his thigh again, his fingers working inside him. They’re so thick, filling Keith. 

“Hurry up,” Keith whines, weakly. 

Shiro chuckles, licking at the spot where his fingers disappear inside of Keith, tongue dragging around the pull on Keith’s rim. Keith lets out another muffled shout. 

“Gotta take my time with you,” Shiro scolds. Keith can feel him smiling against his skin. “I’m big, remember?” 

Keith groans, frustrated and horny at once. He fucks down against Shiro’s hand, but of course Shiro takes it slow, pulsing his fingers inside him in ungenerous little strokes, fingers scissoring him open. Keith grips Shiro’s hair, tight, trying to yank him in closer, trying to coax him to press his tongue inside him again.

Instead, Shiro squirms up and sucks Keith’s balls into his mouth one at a time, then pulling back to lick up the underside of Keith’s cock. It’s barely a shadow of what he did to Keith last night but still Keith shouts, his cock twitching against Shiro’s mouth. 

Shiro’s grinning at him when Keith manages to open his eyes and peer down at him. It’s a sweet smile, though, his eyes bright. 

“God,” Shiro whispers. “Just look at you.”

He fucks his fingers inside of Keith and Keith full-body trembles, feeling like he’s on fire. He bites his lip to hold back his whimper, squirming. 

“You’re far away,” Keith mutters, but must sound pleading. Shiro’s face is an open book, going from surprised to endeared instantly, his eyes softening. 

He sets Keith’s legs down off his shoulders and crawls up towards him. His fingers shift inside of Keith. Keith can’t help but cry out, body electrified. Shiro presses a kiss to his heaving stomach, his chest, and then up the smooth column of Keith’s neck. He nuzzles at the line of his jaw. 

“Here I am,” he says, unnecessarily, and Keith can’t even be embarrassed. He claws at Shiro’s back, dragging him in closer, and bites his ear until Shiro turns towards him.

He kisses Shiro, messy and desperate. He grabs at Shiro’s dick and gives it an unforgiving tug, tight enough to make Shiro’s breath hitch. He breaks the kiss with a muffled groan of Keith’s name, burying his face against Keith’s neck and rocking up into his hand.

“Fuck,” Shiro whispers, breath hot against Keith’s neck. 

Keith smiles triumphantly, squeezing his hand around Shiro’s cock and stroking him off. Shiro rocks desperately into his hand, momentarily distracted from fingering Keith open.

“Maybe you’re the one who’s going to be shouting my name,” Keith whispers against Shiro’s ear, smiling. 

Shiro laughs, rocking his hips up, cock thrusting into the tight fist of Keith’s hand. 

“Yeah, y- yeah, baby…” Shiro whispers and satisfaction coils in Keith’s chest that he’s done enough to make Shiro lose his composure. “Baby, please…” 

Keith strokes him, indulgently, squeezing at the base. “You could come up here and fuck my face, if you want.” 

Shiro lifts his head, panting, face flushed and eyes so bright and deep. He could get lost staring into Shiro’s eyes forever. He wants to, wants any excuse to keep looking at him. 

Shiro kisses him, just a light peck. “Want to be in you,” he mutters against Keith’s mouth. “Baby, you feel so good.”

Keith catches Shiro’s chin with his hand before he can pull back, guiding him back in to kiss him more deeply, licking his tongue against the roof of Shiro’s mouth. He bites his lip just before he pulls back. 

“If you moved faster, you’d be in me already,” Keith tells him. 

Shiro laughs, twisting his fingers inside Keith, hooking them and making Keith gasp. He presses in deeper and Keith makes a soft noise, body arching. Shiro’s fingers massage at his prostate and his sounds take on a slight edge, bordering on too much. Shiro backs off, focusing on spreading him open, stretching his rim around the sleek metal of his fingers. He lightens his touch, waiting for Keith to relax. 

“And that’s why I’m taking my time, sweetheart,” Shiro whispers. Keith arches up, catching Shiro’s mouth with his, kissing him. 

“Want to be closer,” Keith says, his words coming out as a whine. He grabs at Shiro, pawing at his shoulders. “Shiro… Shiro, please.” 

Shiro’s arm curls around Keith’s arching back, pulling him up easily. He makes it look effortless, the way he pulls Keith from sprawled on his back and into his lap. He spreads Keith’s legs with his own thick thighs, and Keith feels so wide, so open. Shiro’s fingers slip back inside him and Keith’s gasp rattles out of him, a keening whimper as he arches his back. 

“This good?” Shiro asks and all Keith can do is nod. He mouths at Shiro’s neck, dragging his teeth, sucking a bruising kiss against his skin. 

Keith reaches for Shiro’s cock again, addicted to how big he looks around Keith’s slim fingers, addicted to the feeling of it, practically gagging on the thought of how it’ll feel pressing inside him, splitting him open. He can’t wait to bounce on it, can’t wait to be taken apart by Shiro. 

“Shiro,” he whispers, voice rough with desire. 

“Think you’re ready for me?” Shiro asks, voice thready with arousal. 

Keith nods, fisting blindly for the bottle of lube and popping it open. He slicks his hand up and reaches down towards Shiro’s cock, stroking him until he’s slick with precome and lube, sloppy against Keith’s fingers. 

Shiro’s gone breathless against him, belly heaving. Keith glances up from his cock to watch Shiro’s face, the ripple of pleasure pulsing over his face, his eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks. He’s so handsome. He’s so beautiful. It’s devastating. 

“Fuck,” Keith whispers, bumping his nose up against Shiro’s cheek as he wriggles closer, letting Shiro slip out of him, “Get in me. Fuck.” 

Shiro’s hands grip Keith’s ass, lifting him up easily as Keith fists his cock, pulling it back to press against his entrance, open and relaxed for him. Keith sighs, tipping his head forward to press against Shiro’s shoulder. 

Keith sighs out through his nose, making sure he’s relaxed before he eases Shiro’s cock up against his hole. Shiro’s controlling his weight and he lowers him gently, slowly, enough so that only the head of his cock presses against his hole. He pushes past the rim, widening around him. 

Keith sucks in a sharp breath, tensing up at the first feeling of intrusion, and then forces himself to relax again. His thighs tremble even when Shiro’s the one holding him up. Shiro turns his head, nuzzling into Keith’s hair, pressing a kiss against Keith’s ear.

“You alright?” he whispers, and Keith manages a jerky nod. “Tell me if it’s too much. We’ve got all the time in the world, baby. Whatever you want.” 

Keith nods again, less jerky this time. He squirms in Shiro’s hands, adjusting to the thick slide of Shiro’s cock, just barely pressing inside him. He wants all of him, he wants to slide down and feel all of Shiro. He wants to bounce on his cock and never stop. 

“Such a fucking gentleman,” Keith mutters, lifting his head to gently headbutt at Shiro’s forehead. He lingers, pressed there, their eyes meeting. 

Shiro smiles at him. “Someone’s gotta be. Anna Conda’s a bit of a diva.” 

Keith clenches his eyes shut, barking out a surprised laugh. “Stop, or else I really am going to start calling your dick Anna.” 

“There are worse names,” Shiro teases, pressing a light kiss to Keith’s smiling mouth. “Baby Jiro.”

“ _Stop_ , holy shit, that’s awful,” Keith gasps as, slowly, Shiro eases him down a little onto his cock. Keith clenches around him and hears Shiro’s breath hitch. Keith squirms up, hands cupping Shiro’s face. “Hey,” he whispers. “Shiro…”

“Mm?” Shiro prompts.

Keith just kisses him, helpless and delirious with affection. His body’s singing, thrummed so close to the edge because of Shiro’s touch, his smile. It’s too much. He feels beautiful in Shiro’s arms. 

Little by little, Keith eases against Shiro. Every time he relaxes, Shiro eases him down a little more, taking his time to work himself inside of Keith. His arms so strong, holding Keith up easily, even when Keith starts to squirm. Before long, Keith just melts against him, pliant and ready for whatever Shiro will give him. 

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Shiro praises him and Keith can’t help but squirm, shiver as the words wash over him. He whimpers. He’s been on the edge of coming for so long, hyper-aware of every little touch, his body electrified. 

Finally, finally, agonizingly slow, Shiro bottoms out inside of Keith. Keith feels the moment when he’s undeniably filled by Shiro’s cock, feels the press of his thighs up against his ass. Shiro sighs out, body trembling, his hands leaving Keith’s ass to slide over his thighs, up his hips, over his waist, petting him, soothing him. 

“Look at you, beautiful,” Shiro whispers, hushed. “Baby, you’re so good.” 

Keith makes a pleased, strangled noise, breathless. He moves a little, lifting his body up, just a little, and dropping back down again. He gasps out, body electrified. But it’s nothing compared to Shiro, who groans, tipping his head back. He must be so close to coming, must be holding himself back for Keith’s sake.

Keith pets his face, brushes his hair back from Shiro’s handsome face. He cups his cheeks, thumb touching his mouth. Shiro puckers up, kissing the pad of his thumbprint. 

They set a steady pace after that. Shiro holds Keith, guiding him up and back down again, sliding inside him easily. Keith clings to him, clenching his body around him, feeling the deliriously pleasurable slide of his cock inside him, striking inside of him. 

He squirms closer, pressing up against Shiro, arching his body. Shiro strokes into him and Keith feels it moving inside him. 

“Fuck,” Keith gasps out, shuddering. “ _Shiro._ ” 

He drops his hand down, grabbing at his cock and fisting it to keep from coming right then and there as Shiro rocks up, as his body drags down to meet the thick cock inside him. 

“Baby,” Shiro whispers, awed, his hand joining around Keith’s cock, stroking him in time to his thrusts. Keith garbles out a low cry, body shuddering. “Fuck, baby…” 

He sets a brutal pace like that. He rocks inside of Keith leaving Keith incapable of anything but gasping, legs flexing as he meets him. He clenches tight at the base of his cock to keep from coming, staving off his orgasm so he can memorize the flex of Shiro’s body, every twitching emotion on his face as he fucks into Keith. He has to shove Shiro’s hand off his cock and Shiro laughs, breathless, hands gripping Keith’s hips and guiding him down. 

Keith lurches forward, kissing Shiro for the sake of giving his mouth something to do. He can’t stop. He never wants to stop. He wants to sink into Shiro and never let go. 

When he pulls back from the kiss, Shiro’s smile is so gentle, his eyes soft. 

“I never thought I’d meet anyone like you, Keith,” Shiro whispers.

Keith shakes his head. It takes a moment for him to find his words, feeling totally blown out. “I’m the one who should say that.”

Shiro kisses him again and rocks sharply inside him. Keith gasps, garbling out a helpless moan of Shiro’s name. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Shiro whispers. 

Keith shakes his head, hating that his eyes prick with tears, only for a moment. He rocks his hips down to meet Shiro’s cock, tightening around him. 

“Beautiful,” Shiro whispers. 

Keith’s beyond the point of thinking about his reactions, how loud he is, what he sounds like or what he looks like— he’s only reacting to Shiro’s touch, his cock inside him, his hands dragging over him, his eyes looking at him, so soft and so warm. Keith wails out Shiro’s name, fucking down hard against Shiro’s cock. 

“Can’t believe you’re real,” Keith sobs out, and it’s too much at once. But he doesn’t regret saying it, not when Shiro makes a breathless sound and clings to him. 

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro gasps and lurches forward, kissing Keith sloppily. 

Keith whimpers into the kiss, grabbing hard at Shiro, thrusting down desperately against his cock, bobbing against him. 

“Fuck,” Shiro groans, desperately. “Fuck, Keith!” 

“Yeah,” Keith hiccups, body aching. “Shiro. Shiro, please—” 

“Gonna make you mine,” Shiro whispers. 

Keith wriggles. “Do it. Make me come, Shiro.” 

He mouths at Shiro’s lips, kissing him sloppily as Shiro thrusts brutally into him. He drops his hand down, fisting Keith’s cock and stroking him off. Keith comes with a startled cry, sobbing Shiro’s name, body shuddering all around him. 

Shiro keeps thrusting into him, but his pace slows as Keith comes, shuddering apart, bordering on oversensitive and overstimulated. He sobs out Shiro’s name, slumping against him. Shiro cups his ass, squeezing once before thrusting into him two more times and coming with a low groan in Keith’s ear.

Keith feels himself flood with warmth, Shiro’s come filling him. He shudders, gasping and gulping down breath as he writhes. Shiro holds him through it all, also trembling against him. 

When Keith thinks he has breath again, he mouths absently at Shiro’s shoulder, exhausted and melted against Shiro. He groans when Shiro dares to move, gripping him tight. 

“Keith, baby,” Shiro whispers, worshipful once more. 

Keith turns his head, pressing a kiss to Shiro’s cheek and slumping again. 

“Gotta pull out, babe,” Shiro whispers, sounding mournful. Keith makes a soft, regretful sound, clinging tight to Shiro. 

“Stay,” Keith commands even as he feels Shiro start to soften inside him, feels come leaking out of him. He wriggles closer, catching Shiro’s slack mouth with his own, kissing him messily. 

Shiro groans, kissing him back, his hands soft on the small of Keith’s back. 

“Have to clean you up,” Shiro protests into the kiss, words muffled. “Have to—” 

“Fuck that,” Keith whispers, “Stay with me, Shiro.” 

Shiro huffs a breath that Keith thinks might be a laugh, but he isn’t sure. His voice is fuzzy and sexed-out. He whimpers as Shiro dares to shift again. With devastating care, Shiro grips him tight and turns them, pressing Keith back onto the bed. 

Keith still cries out when Shiro slips out from inside him. He shivers in the wake of it, feeling empty and fucked-out. 

“Shiro,” he whispers, reaching for him. 

Shiro presses in closer to him, kissing first his jaw and then the corner of his mouth. “I’m here.” He nuzzles at Keith’s neck. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” 

“Mm,” Keith whispers, hooking his leg around Shiro to keep him pressed up against him. “ _Yes._ Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Shiro laughs at that, his eyes so gentle as he strokes the hair away from Keith’s sweaty forehead. Keith feels absolutely disgusting, but too satisfied to care. He catches Shiro’s hand before it can pull away, pressing a dry kiss to his knuckles. 

Keith studies Shiro’s face, the soft smile, face sheened with sweat, looking so sweet and so satisfied. He thinks, deliriously and definitely a little sex-endorphined, that he could fall in love with this man. That he could be with him forever. 

Keith blinks back against his eyes going glassy and sighs out, petting Shiro’s face. “So fucking glad I won that stupid mini-challenge.” 

Shiro laughs, squirming closer and pressing a kiss to Keith’s forehead. “Me too, baby.” 

-

Later, nearly two months later, when the episode with Shiro finally airs, Keith will be mortified to learn that production did, indeed, get footage of his and Shiro’s make-out session. They’ll make it look as salacious and dramatic as possible, too. 

Watching him and Shiro make out on television will be made even more mortifying because he’ll be sitting at home with his parents for their weekly reality show marathon. Worse still, Shiro will be sitting there on the guest seat and turning bright red along with Keith. (But later that night, after the episode’s airing, his parents will happily inform Keith that they like Shiro, so at least there’s a bright side to their mortification.) 

Later, weeks later after that, when the finale airs and Keith’s crowned the next drag superstar— a close race between him and Hunk— Keith will put on a silly, celebratory crown as he stands on the Lion’s Pride’s stage, bowing to a cheering crowd at his watch party. Shiro will be the one to put the crown on his head before pulling Keith into a sweet, gentle kiss, wearing that same cotton-candy pink wig he wore that first day they performed together. 

Shiro will slide his mouth against Keith’s ear and whisper, “I’m so proud of you.”

He’ll tug Keith in close, both of them decked out for the party, Keith wearing that celebratory crown and a wine red dress. Keith will grin at him, laughing, thinking there’s no way he could be happier than this.

And then, quietly, for the first time Shiro will say: “I love you so much, Keith.” 

And Keith— Keith, only Keith— will never feel as beautiful as he does when he gets to say it back.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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